Forests of the Night
by Michael Spenik
Summary: Richard Michaels is a were-tiger in Houston, he runs a succeeding business and runs Clan Cat of the local Pack. But the death of a high ranking member of the Pack causes Richard to look at the shadows in his own Pack, questioning loyalties as a power hungry cult in the city attempts to raise their dark god to life.


Prologue….

Jim strides down the hallway of the Keep, hiding a nervousness in his bones over the contents of the folder in his hands. A report had come to him a few weeks ago regarding a person of interest the Beast Lord of the Free People of the Code had him flag. Considering the man's past relationship with the Beast Lord, Jim agreed that it was prudent, as the individual could pose a problem in the future. Now that problem is gone, but another may have surfaced in its place.

"What is it, Jim?" Curran nearly growls as he looks up from the binder in front of him, a summation of the conflicts he will be presiding over tonight, it being Wednesday.

"I got a report on Joshua," Jim says, standing in front of the desk with his hands folded behind his back, concealing the folder.

"Has he started to make a move?" Curran asks, eagerness in his voice and gold flashing in his eyes.

"He already made one, in Houston," Jim says simply, handing a report across to the Beast Lord. "He teamed up with, what reports are indicating, the Iron Dogs. Tried to take over Clan Cat of the Houston Pack."

"Tried?" Curran asks, eyebrow raised, glancing through the file. "Did Pelos finally come down off his high horse?"

"No, the male Alpha of that Clan killed him, in spectacular fashion from what I can glean, which isn't much," Jim says evenly.

Curran finishes skimming the report and sets it aside, "Anyone who can take out Joshua with ease is someone to watch. Who is this guy?"

Jim pulls the file from behind his back and drops it on the desk between them. It's a thick file with a rubber band holding it closed, nearly an inch thick and with SECRET labeled in red on the cover.

"Former Sergeant First Class Richard Michaels," Jim says simply, waiting to see if Curran connects the dots.

Curran frowns, "The Texas Ranger that got attacked by a bunch of Loups and turned. That can't be right, he doesn't have the experience for that."

"Look at the sketch on top," Jim says as Curran opens the folder, having removed the rubber bands.

Inside is a hand drawn sketch of a street and an annotation that it is a replica of a photo in the Knights of Mericiful Aid's files. It is a picture of a tiger, though obviously a shapeshifter by its enormous size, judging by the woman it is walking next to. Curran frowns at the picture for a moment, then back at Jim.

"You have sources in the Order?" he asks, dodging the question as his mind mulls it over.

"Of course I do," Jim growls, gesturing at the tiger. "But the point is that he wasn't some Merc that worked for the Texas Rangers."

"So who was he?" Curran asks with a hard voice, leaning back and watching Jim, his tone indicating he wants straight answers, no more guessing or leading. The lion had tired of the game.

"Former Platoon Sergeant in the Ghost Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, did tours in Georgia, the country not the state, and survived New Orleans during the flare that destroyed it and the aftermath, all as a human," Jim states factually, summing it up.

"So this guy," Curran says with an edge of a growl in his voice, "killed my cousin. What of the sisters?"

"Don't know yet, nothing solid," Jim says, shaking his head. "This happened a number of months ago, I'm trying to catch up."

"Why the delay? Didn't you have him flagged?" Curran asks with a challenge, knowing Jim let very little escape his notice.

"They covered their tracks, then Michaels made him disappear," Jim frowns. "He is a pro with money now to make the dots look like they're leading somewhere else, and Joshua had covered his tracks really good on his move so the Houston Pack wouldn't know, and neither did we."

"He is your new person of interest," Curran says with baring of teeth, tapping the file forcefully. "Find out everything you can about him."

"Already on it," Jim assures him. "So far I can tell you he is the Alpha of the Cat Clan of Houston, and from what I can tell, the current power behind the throne in Houston."

"Pelos won't tolerate that kind of potential for long," Curran says with a frown, leaning back and thinking. "He was content to have his little kingdom and be the Alpha, but this may give him ideas of grandeur, or he may be threatened."

"My thoughts exactly," Jim agrees. "Last time he pushed our way, it was messy."

Curran nods in agreement, "Do more research, make up a plan. Send a group to assess, then let's do a parlay, test the waters again."

"Yes, my lord," Jim says with a nod of his head and leaving, having already fleshed out the beginnings of a plan.

Richard sighs as he looks down at his desk. It's been nearly a year now since he'd returned from the kidnapping and attempt on his life at a supernatural game preserve in South America. A year since he had become the male Alpha for Clan Cat in the Houston Pack, and sixteen months or so since he'd become a shapeshifter. The first six months or so of his transformation had been a whirlwind to him, becoming a were-tiger, joining the Cat Clan and almost immediately destroying its leadership. Pulled into Clan Heavy and quickly rising through the ranks to the Clan's Executioner position prior to the re-establishment of Clan Cat, having learned enough to be a good Alpha.

Not that he shouldered the burden alone. No, Tasha, a were-lion and his mate, had shared the load, and between the two of them they are the leaders of their Clan, and the youngest of the Alphas on the Pack's Council. They are modeled closely on the Atlanta Pack of Free People, but since Richard's acceptance into the Pack, more changes and refinements have been made. Some with welcome, others were forced, and most were grudgingly accepted, though now, after implementation, he is getting fewer and fewer pushbacks from other Clans and leaders within the Pack. His methods are proving effective and useful, and he's been working on trying to find leaders within the Rat Family and the Lissome Family, the rarer, smaller, shapeshifters infected with Lyc-V.

His initial test, and continued burden, it seems, has been Hoffman Resources, a Corporation built by another shapeshifter, a were-lynx, and operated by the previous Alphas of Clan Cat. Now he is the CEO and over the last year he is also the largest shareholder, having 34% of the stock, compared to the others, including the founder's son, Alex Hoffman. Alex is currently the Vice President of Operations, and practically his right hand when it comes to the financial side of his life, whereas Adam, a former strongarm for the previous Alpha, Danny, has stepped up as his security head and the tactical Beta of his life.

"Khan," Adam says from his doorway, and Richard looks up from the report he'd been reading on his desk.

Adam is of average height, just under six feet tall, with a proportional build that speaks of hours spent in the gym working out and building both his strength and flexibility. His ebony skin, stretched taut over his muscular frame, is shaved clean over his head, though he currently sports a neatly trimmed goatee and square jaw over a simple, tailored black suit and thin clip on tie. The outfit is the standard uniform adopted by the Clan's overt security personnel, started by Adam and approved by Richard upon his return from his sojourn in South America.

Richard blinks at him in thought for only a brief moment, "Time?"

"Eleven thirty two, sir," Adam says, knowing that his Alpha loses track of time often when buried in his work.

Richard pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, "The Jackal Alpha, and the Boudas."

"Yes, sir," Adam confirms with a nod.

"Alright," he says with a sigh, standing and pulling his vest from the hanger behind his desk. "Is Tasha here?"

"Making small talk, waiting for you to start the official meet, sir," he responds, hands clasped professionally in front of him as Richard puts on the vest with pocket watch, then the suit coat to accompany it.

Richard pauses in adjusting his jacket, "Adam, when did I get civilized?"

Adam snorts, "I saw your last sparring match with five of my best guys. You are not civilized, Khan."

The last word carries an emphasis to it, meaning for all those in the Clan and Pack. Richard had earned it by surviving his kidnapping, defeating the were-lion attempting to claim the Clan as his own, and crippling the attack on the Bastion the previous year. The term from a Kipling poem had become a title, and now used to show respect.

Richard smiles and nods as he buttons his suit jacket, then strides easily down the corridor to the stairs and first floor conference room. He enters to find Mr. Jay, the olive skinned Alpha for Clan Jackal, one of four Clan leaders in the local Pack, and his Beta, Ms. Jameson, whom he'd beaten into unconsciousness the year before when she'd challenged his capabilities. His eyes are drawn, however, to the tawny blond haired woman sitting on the closer side of the table, his mate and live-in girlfriend, Tasha Nash. He pauses, taking in her scent, then continues into the room, his nerves settled.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, I was going over the quarterly and annual reports for the last four years of the businesses we manage for you, so I could answer any questions you may have," he says with a friendly smile after giving Tasha a quick kiss on the top of her head, sitting as he unbuttons his suit jacket.

"Not a problem, Mr. Michaels," Mr. Jay says with a smile of his own. "I'm familiar with the reports, but we are not here on financial business. We're here about the Pack."

Richard nods slowly for a moment before answering, "The appointment had no notations as such. I assumed you wanted to discuss your businesses we've been overseeing. You have me at a disadvantage."

"But not Ms. Nash," Jay says with a smile and a nod at Tasha, who manages the Clan more than he.

"What can we help you with?" she asks with a smile, her finger thick braided hair falling down past her shoulders and onto her back and shoulders.

"We've decided that Clan Bouda needs to become a reality," Jay says with a glance at his Beta. "We saw how you transitioned Cat from Heavy, and drew your cats to you."

"I want to do the same," Jameson says with a flash of red ruby light in her eyes, leaning forward in her chair and looking at the two leaders of Clan Cat. "There is now nearly sixty Hyenas in the Pack. I can make a Clan, and rule it."

"It's not about ruling," Richard says immediately, then glancing at Tasha before continuing. "It's about leading, earning the trust of the members of your Clan. A strong arm and firm grasp is not enough."

"You've done well as Beta," Tasha says as she picks up where he left off. "Six years, if I recall right. You are a known quantity, but also known for a harder hand, rather than light."

Jameson narrows her eyes at them, "I know how to run a Clan."

"You are not family friendly," Richard says bluntly, and she lifts her lip in a snarl in reply.

"He's right," Jay says placidly, lifting an eyebrow to her. "You are a good enforcer, and you know about the details, but you can't do the interpersonal portion of being a leader."

She growls in response, but Jay slams his fist on the table, rocking the six inch thick wood, and she quiets.

"This is why we are here," he says firmly. "Michaels is a soldier and a leader, Tasha a softer face for their Clan. The Domascas are similar in Clan Wolf. That is why they are successful. You must find a way to do the same. If you are only a dictator, your Clan will not be what Jackal is, what they have."

She scowls, but after a few moments, nods acceptance, "I need some advice, on how to make my Clan strong."

Richard leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin, then calls over his shoulder, "Adam, post!"

Adam rushes into the room, pistol out as the tech is up, scanning the room and with two other security people behind him. They pause as they see their principals calmly sitting at the table, then holster their weapons.

"Yes, sir," Adam says, clasping his hands before him calmly.

"Sit, I need your expertise in some security details, leave Hermano outside," he says, waving at a chair next to him.

Richard collapses into his office chair two hours later, Tasha sitting across from him as the soundproof door shuts behind them. He pulls a pair of steel glasses from a drawer, as well as a bottle of Elijah Craig 12 year whiskey. He pours generous portions in both glasses and slides one to Tasha.

"I thought it would be another two years," he says after a deep pull of the bourbon. "She's not ready, and I'm not sure the other boudas will follow her."

"Ready or not, they're making their play now," she says with a moue of distaste at the cup, but drinking anyway. "She's too dominant to keep taking orders from him. He'd win in a magic or leadership fight, but she'd win in a muscle based fight or an overall fight. He's better at the details of families than her."

"She wants to be better, though," he says thoughtfully. "She won't say it in front of him, but one on one, we may be able to convince her to take classes, counseling on how to do better."

"She sees me as too soft a touch," Tasha says with a sigh, having pulled another long pull of the whiskey. "It will have to be you. Sparring practice, I think."

"Ditto," Richard replies with a sigh, finishing his own sip, then looking at her with a slow smile. "We've been doing this too long. We barely have to talk about the next step."

She smiles in return, real mirth under it, "We know how we think. And we are a team, love. I couldn't do this without you."

"Or I without you," he replies with a raised glass, downing the last of the bourbon.

He stands and circles the desk to her, leans down and kisses her deeply, lingering on the taste of her lips and tongue.

"I love you," he says softly as he comes up for air, inhaling her scent.

"Mate," she replies simply with a smile, her own response to his statement.

He kneels beside her chair, partially holding her as he lowers himself beside her, "Any luck on Rat Leaders or Lissome?"

"No," she says with a sigh. "All our good leaders are in the Cats, but there are some of the younger ones that I think will be ready once they reach maturity."

"Tash," he says with a sigh, walking back to his chair and pouring more whiskey. "We're managing three Families on our own, the cats, the rats and lissome. I was glad to pull them from the others, and our favors and negotiations have kept the other Clans from taking advantage, but if we don't split them soon, they'll think we mean to consolidate our power, and topple the others."

"You think Pelos is threatened?" Tasha asks, a part of her mind cringing at the memory of envious looks the Pack Lord had given her.

"No," he responds after a long pull on the glass. "He wears his power like a cloak, he's comfortable, as far as I can tell. I think it's Domasca, the mister not the misses."

"He is insecure of himself," she agrees with a swallow, then snorts. "I never would have thought I'd be second guessing the Clan leaders regularly if you'd asked me a year and a half ago. And now…"

"Here we are," Richard snorts with a smile and holds his glass up in salute. "To progress."

"To progress," she chuckles in response, her glass held up as well.

Richard checks his jacket and tie again, looking in the mirror. He's at the Bastion, in his house, and preparing to head to the Mansion, the monthly ball scheduled for this evening, and he's going to meet Tasha there, she had business in the city with the Guild earlier. He buttons the dark brown jacket, black collared, trimmed with black soft wool tooled in intricate designs on the fringes. His vest is a deep brown with olive green on the edges of the leather, matching the jacket, his shoes olive drab as well.

"You look sharp, sir," Adam says from the door, a smirk on his face.

"Don't tease me, Adam," Richard says, glancing at the were-leopard. "Did you get it?"

Adam smiles, "It was a bit over budget, but the design is exact, the jeweler had problems forming the diamond and topaz into the shapes you wanted, but…"

He holds out a velvet case, and Richard smiles, reaching out to take the case, then looking at it intensely inside before closing it again. He grins at Adam for a moment, then frowns and shifts his expression to somber intensity.

"No one saw you get this, right?" Richard asks, his tone focused and sharp.

"I used two cut outs, and a dead drop for the pay," he says with a smile. "Rosita knows, but she's loyal and silent, not many speak to her. She has worked to another angle, getting the accents for tonight's celebration."

"Complications?" he asks, pocketing the small box with hidden nervousness.

"I had to burn one cut out, he got greedy, but Hermano and Will handled it, and they've kept their mouths shut," he says with a nod, then adds. "They didn't know the reason, and neither did the cut out."

"That brings us to… twelve cut outs left for minor issues?" Richard asks with querying tone.

"Eleven, sir," Adam says with a scowl. "Black street cost us one last month, with the house fire that wouldn't go out."

"Shit," Richard says with a sigh, buckling on his belt and gladius, his axe having been a gift to Adam a few months ago, when he had proven himself. "Was it Isaac or Iago?"

"Isaac," Adam confirms. "Went in to save another person living there, they both died."

Richard sighs, nodding in thought as he adjusts his belt and weapons. Isaac was one of the homeless kids on the street, and they resisted adoption or anything less than pulling their own weight. Many have magic talents and it keeps them from dying in droves, as well. Isaac had a gift for divinity, foreseeing the future, and he'd tip off the Clan, since Richard started ordering more community service events to help the Houston area.

After a moment's thought, Richard asks, "Who is catering tonight?"

"Kate got the contract," Adam says, referring to the former Hoffman's receptionist who has started her own catering company.

"Good," he says with a nod. "I need to talk to Alex, how is he going to the ball?"

"Direct from the office, he called and said he'd be late," Adam says.

Richard picks up the phone and calls the office from memory. Alex picks up on the second ring.

"Hoffman Resources, Alex Hoffman speaking, Vice-President of Operations," the were-lynx answers through the phone line.

"Alex, it's Michaels, I need you to get ahold of Kate, have the leftovers from tonight taken to Black Street for the urchins and street folks," he says simply. "Isaac died in a fire, we need to make sure they know we haven't forgotten."

"Got it, boss," he says from the other end of the line, scribbling on a pad. "I'll get with Adam on security."

"Good," he says with an unseen nod. "I'll see you at the ball."

Richard hangs up and walks out of the house and mounts his horse, mentally going through his actions when he gets to the Mansion.

Tasha scans the building skyline as she sits side saddle on her trained warhorse, one of the many now in the stables in the Bastion, Richard's collection having grown with the success of his business and the Clan. She's riding side saddle because she is wearing a dark red evening gown, split up the side to her mid-thigh. Her torso is covered in a short black cloak, covering her shoulders and body down to her hips, closed with a cord and keeping the chill of the night at bay. Her security escort rides horses as well, the magic down and the occasion calling for an old fashioned travel.

"Did Richard call?" she asks over her shoulder, her carefully crafted dark blond hair falling in a combination of waves and inch thick braids twisted on her head and over her shoulders.

"We got a message he called Hoffman's, then left the Bastion, alpha," Will says from the horse to her side, still scanning the buildings, his M4 assault rifle held in his hands as maintains security.

She nods understanding, unseen by Will, and she continues to trot down the lane on her horse. Richard sometimes strayed and accepted contracts at the Guild, without warning or a call. She had tried to chastise him for it, but it is an uphill battle, and she understands that it is part of his nature, though her lack of control over that portion of his life grates on her. What causes the distress, though, is not the contracts, but him being in danger with no warning and no help or support. He often goes with no help and only half the time leaves a note with the guards he is with, though the last is something he is trying to fix, as he understands it is a real security issue.

They ride through the thin countryside outside Houston, only the noise of the wild beyond the clopping of their horses' hoofs on the hard packed gravel road. Twenty minutes later they ride through the front iron gates of the Mansion, and the warm glow of torches and braziers spread around the property gives an ambiance to the old southern styled mansion. Some guests, members of the Pack and only a handful of other special friends of the Pack, are outside, the rest focused in the enclosed ballroom to the back of the main house.

Her entourage rides to the front doors and she dismounts gracefully from her horse, knowing many eyes are upon her. She lands lightly on her toes from the saddle, her cloak still around her, and she strides up the stairs of the Mansion as her security stays outside to work with the Mansion's defensive patrols. She walks into the Mansion slowly but with a solid deliberation, allowing herself time to taste all the scents within, parsing them out and picking out the significant members of the Pack within it. It only takes her a moment to detect Richard's distinctive scent within it, masculine with a hint of peat and a spice that could only be called Asian, though he has none of that from his ancestors.

She pauses at the main doors to the Ballroom, taking it in and turning to her right, where Richard stands in his own formal attire for the night. She smiles slowly and genuinely as she drinks in his appearance. He hates to dress up, but the black and brown suit him, and the green subtly makes him stand out in a crowd of people that are taller and inarguable more attractive, though few could argue that he is not the most obviously deadly person in the room. He smiles slowly in return as he looks her in the eyes and she smiles playfully as she unclasps the topaz brooch on her cloak and dramatically sweeps the black soft cloak to the side, revealing her dress.

His eyes widen ever so slightly as he takes her in, a deep red burgundy dress that hugs her strong, slightly curvy and inarguably feminine figure, sandals on her feet with intricately woven red leather wrapping up her legs to her knee and lower thigh matching the dress. The dress falls to her mid-shin, but a slit rises to her mid-thigh, a half inch short of being scandalous, but is instead daring, and topped with a loose necklace with a simple stone within it, this a diamond with gold coloring matching her eyes when her inner self flashes.

"You are a vision," Richard says, stepping closer and reaching his hand to her.

She takes it without thinking, smiling as the rest of the world drops away for a moment and she focuses only on him, and his scent. _Mate_.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she says as he takes her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently, and part of her head wonders why he is being so formal, it is unlike him.

"Tasha Nash," he says solidly, with a solemn look on his face as he drops to a knee in front of her and reaches into his jacket pocket with his right hand, his left still holding her right. "Will you marry me?"

He pops open the small velvet case one handed as he gazes up at her, and she stands in shock for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She is suddenly aware of over a hundred eyes upon her, the leaders and senior members of the entire Pack gathered in the Ballroom with them. She glances at the ring in the padded velvet, a white band with a pair of jewels encased in a heavy mounting, one topaz to match her beast's eyes, the other a large diamond, both cut to look like the halves of the yin-yang symbol.

"Of course I will," she says with a smile. "You complete me."

He takes her into his arms and they kiss deeply, the ballroom erupting in cheers, though they hear none of it.

"You know you're going to pay for that later," Tasha murmurs as Richard and she walk around the ballroom, arm in arm.

"I fully expect to," he replies in the same tone, a cat like smile on his face.

"You are scaring people with that smile," she says with amusement in her voice, leaning close to speak in a barely audible tone so only he hears her. "They so rarely see you smile, they are unsure what that expression means."

"They'll get over it," he replies, turning to her and giving her a quick kiss. "I hope you like the ring."

"It is absolutely unique and I adore it," she says as she glances at the ring on her finger again. "I can't believe you were able to make it without my knowing. How did you do it?"

"I have my ways, as you well know," he says with a smirk. "Let it go. As much as I'd like to dwell, we do have business to attend to tonight."

She sighs theatrically, kisses him quickly on the cheek then focuses as they approach their main goal for this evening, the Wolf Alphas, Mr. and Mrs. Domasca. The two Alphas are both light of skin, and though only Mr. Domasca is a werewolf, Mrs. Domasca moves with the same fluid surety of a balanced and centered person, either a dancer or fighter. She had earned her position as female Alpha of her Clan by her own right as much as by her marriage to her husband.

"A lovely display, Mr. Michaels," Mrs. Domasca says with a seemingly genuine smile, nodding her head to him, then Tasha. "And to the future Mrs. Michaels."

"I don't know if I'll keep the name," Tasha says with a smile, glancing at Richard. "Though I suppose Tasha Michaels does have a certain ring to it."

"You get used to, trust me," she says with a smile as she rubs her husband's arm, they both arm in arm as well. "I am sure you will make it your own, as you have the Pride and your Clan."

"Thank you," Tasha says with a polite nod.

Shortly, they have left pleasantries behind and are speaking over the transfer of members of the Wolf Clan into the soon to be formed Clan Rat, a mixture of members from Clan Cat, Jackal and Wolf into its own Clan. The details are many and complicated, the decided Alphas of the Clan coming not from Cat, but from Wolf and Jackal, though under mentorship of all the Alphas, and Richard in the lead. They are deep in the details of the transfers when one of the security personnel bursts into the ballroom.

"Khan!" he yells, and Richard spins towards him with focused intensity. "Code Lima twelve!"

Richard is rushing through the parted crowd to the back of the room, peeling his jacket off as he picks up to a run. The back door is open, and he leaps off the top step onto the lawn and sprints to where a crowd of teenagers are. While the adults are inside, the high school aged shapeshifters have a party outside, very much like a school dance. In the middle of this crowd, two teenage boys, nearly fully grown, are trying to hold down a female were-lynx in a deformed half shifted form.

"Release her and get back!" he shouts as he spreads his feet and faces her.

The teenagers dash away, cuts and gashes on their arms from the were-lynx's claws, and the shapeshifter is on its feet in a blink, its eyes crazy and nearly glassed over. It is a hash of human and animal, not a warrior form, but a deformed monster stuck between shifting, unable to hold human or animal form. Richard roars at it, a challenge and to keep its attention focused on him, and it snarls in return, unable to mimic the sound. It leaps at him and he dives to the side, low, and catches one of its outstretched arms by the wrist. He pivots and spins, twirling the creature around, up, then down into the ground into an awkward crash.

He is on her back before it can react, slamming his elbow into the center of its back, below the lump of shoulder muscles. The shapeshifter twitches painfully at the attack on a nerve cluster, and Richard manages to snag both arms and pin them in a complicated lock behind her back. He has leverage and twenty pounds on the adolescent, and he holds her down as he shifts his legs to try and minimize her legs from moving.

"Lindsey!" a strangled shout pierces the night, and Richard frowns, having thought he recognized the scent of the Sochim's oldest daughter.

"Atticus, get your wife inside," Richard growls without turning, his focus on not getting caught by the claws or snapping jaws.

He can hear the woman struggle and begin crying as she is taken into the house, and after a few more moments, Adam is next to him with a giant syringe in his hands.

"In the thigh," Richard says, and Adam dumps the tranquilizer into the thrashing teen's leg.

It takes a moment to kick in, and when it does, the were-lynx goes limp. Richard stands over the unconscious loup and sighs for a moment. Atticus and his wife had already lost children to loupism, and now Lindsey. To add onto all of that, part of his job as the Pack's Executioner is to put down Loups whenever they show themselves. She was stable and even, following the mediation techniques, so her snapping made little sense to him. As his mind parses the thoughts and he picks her up, the magic drops, and he pauses as another thought hits him.

The magic wave had only lasted fifty minutes, and the waves had swapped out more rapidly over the last week, becoming more frequent. Increased frequency and intensity heralds a magic flare, and as that hits him he realizes that that the world is due for another. The increased magic causes shapeshifters to be more likely to lose control, and he looks at Adam as he turns to the Mansion to take the girl into the basements.

"Canvas everyone," he says in a hard tone, looking at all the young shapeshifters around him who look at the ground and refuse to meet his gaze. "I want to know what happened, exactly, to push her over the edge."

"Yes, Khan," Adam says with a hard frown, his bald black head shining dully in the torchlight.

"Everyone will tell you the truth, or else," he says with a hard, flat tone, and everyone in the gathered group of adolescents stiffens slightly at the implications, and Richard can sense that there is a group on the edge that tenses more than others.

"Joachim," Richard says, pausing on the second step and turning back with the lynx held easily in his arms, and pinning the fifteen year old Hispanic boy at the edge of the crowd with his alpha stare, his eyes flashing a fiery orange for a moment. "You will go first, with your friends. Understood?"

"Yes, Khan," the boy says with a duck of his head, a tremor in his voice and the scent of fear striking Richard even from this distance.

Richard turns back into the ballroom and through the crowd to the stairs leading to the basements of the Mansion. He descends three flights of wide, long sloped stairs, the basement of the Mansion a labyrinth of rooms and hallways, a turn and into the medical wing of the Mansion. He sets the unconscious were-lynx onto a waiting operating table, and the Pack's medmage, an Asian man who had once pulled silver buckshot from Richard's chest, begins restraining the shapeshifter.

"What are the odds for her?" he asks the doctor as he latches the reinforced steel weave and leather bonds.

"With the magic up, it might be better, or worse, depending on how bad her count is," he says in unaccented English, his finger length black hair streaked with gray. "But it really depends on what was in control, her human or beast part."

"Lindsey wasn't home," Richard says with a frown, knowing where this is going.

"Then even if we fix the body, her humanity is gone," he says with a sigh of his own. "We don't have the medicine the Europeans do, and even if we did, it won't repair her mind."

"Is there any spells, or other magic that could?" Richard asks, glancing over his shoulder at where Tasha is walking in, his jacket over her arm, a concerned look on her face.

"Mrs. Domasca would have the best odds of knowing," Tasha answers, handing him his jacket back. "I can ask her, she owes me for getting Tim back into Hoffman's as an intern."

Richard silently snarls at the mention of the snitch son the Wolf Alphas had asked him to mentor. The kid is good, but his loyalties are divided, and that chafes hard on him.

"This doesn't repay it," Richard says firmly. "Not unless she can help, understand?"

"Teach me to suck eggs," she snarls playfully at him, gripping his chin in her fingers. "Female lions are dominant in the Pride, remember?"

"I'm not a lion, love," he chides her with a sigh. "I'm just not looking forward to having to do the deed. The last time was hard enough."

"He had killed three humans and his ex-girlfriend," Tasha reminds him, as they leave the ward and begin the walk back upstairs.

"I know, and there was no-one in there to save, I remember," he says with a sigh he'd let no one else see. "And even if we could, he wouldn't have been able to bear it, much less survived the court."

"I'll talk to the Domasca's, you find out what pushed her over the edge," she repeats in a soothing tone.

"I'm betting Joachim did something," he growls, his eyes flashing and the magic wave hitting again. "He's a bear and in Heavy, we shouldn't have any issues with Noel, but touch base with him to make sure, and Pelos. I'm going to dish the consequences hard and fast."

"Set an example?" she muses for a moment. "Will you kill him?"

"Depends on what can be done for her, and the circumstances, but I'm probably going to have a shit detail shadow for a while," he says.

"Good, the latrines and sewage at the Bastion need to be redug," Tasha says with a smirk of her own, and they arrive on the main floor of the Mansion, and into the muted ballroom.

All eyes turn to them as he strides through the gathered senior members of the Clans and Pack to the back door again, his eyes flashing and his posture pure business and authority. He sizes up the scene outside as Tasha peels to the side to talk with the Wolf Alphas and Noel, and he spots where Adam is talking with two teenagers, one Joachim. He leaps off the top step and lands solidly beside the three, causing the still gathered crowd of teenagers to flinch at his sudden appearance. He grabs Joachim by his throat and picks him up effortlessly, the lanky teen grabbing his arm to relieve the pressure, but his grip still firm.

"What did you do?" he asks in a rough growl.

The teen chokes for a few moments and Richard has to force himself to relax his grip. Then the words come in a torrent of fear and sputtering. They had teased her on her accent consistently since she had arrived, and it had gotten worse these last few months when she started working part time with the cleaning company her mom works with. They'd called her dirty Irish, and other profane things.

He drops the nearly unconscious teen to the floor in an unceremonious heap, his jaw clenching in anger. He glares down at the gasping form, then at the other teenagers around him, his alpha stare turning into a glare, and they drop to their knees, none wanting to draw his ire.

"Who?" he growls. "Step forward now, or the punishment will be worse when I hunt you out."

Five teenagers slowly emerge from the crowd, and he looks at the four males and one female who kneel before him, and he glares at them in barely contained rage. His inner self wants to rip them to shreds, punish them and draw it out, but he recognizes that inner voice as his beast's. The one he'd held, Joachim, is gaining his feet, and kneeling like the others, but he doesn't wait. He punches down hard with a hammer strike with his right, shattering the shoulder and following up immediately with a cross from his left.

Joachim lies unconscious, arm bent wrong and jaw shattered sideways, blood dribbling from his face and nose. He stares silently at the body as it wheezes on the packed dirt, then he turns to the others who have stepped forward.

"Gather him up, and go to the Bastion," he says in a hard tone. "Your penance begins tonight," he then turns to Adam with a still hard expression. "Keep sniffing, there are at least two others that haven't showed themselves. Find them by sunup, or I will, and it will be less pleasant."

Richard stands in the doorway of the medical ward, Lindsey strapped to the steel table in her monstrous mixed form. The alphas of all the Clans and the future Clan Leaders of Rat and Bouda had discussed the problem, and the same issue and solution had arisen as it always has before. Lindsey has gone Loup, and her mind was shattered, she could not be saved. Richard volunteered to perform the deed, as only himself and the Pack Lord could accept the responsibility as the Alphas involved and due to Richard's place as Pack Executioner.

"I'll never understand," Tasha says from behind him, her voice detached and a growl underlying it. "I couldn't do it in your place."

"My hands have been stained with sins for years, love," Richard says softly, uncrossing his arms and walking slowly to the table. "I would rather no one else be soiled by the necessary action. You'll blame yourself if you did it, and I know Atticus has had to do it to his own in the past, he doesn't need to live it again. I can and will bear the blame that people will need to place in order to cope. Its human nature, and I don't blame them for it. Someone has to eat the sins, and I will, for the good of all."

"The Sochims have said their goodbyes while we talked," Tasha says softly. "I'll be outside with the doctor."

Richard stops beside the drugged teenage Loup, the door to the large room clicking shut, leaving him alone with the potentially fanatic homicidal monster on the table. He recalls first seeing her and the family all in animal shape together, none strong enough to hold a warrior form, and playing at a Clan gathering only last month. They had looked like a pack of large kittens, tackling their father and trying to wrestle him to the ground in fun.

He reaches down onto the table and grasps the lynx's deformed muzzle with his left hand to brace the skull, then grips the throat with his right. He gently and firmly applies pressure onto the carotid arteries of the neck, shutting off the blood flow to the brain. The lynx's breathing slows then stops, and he can feel the heart slow further and then stop, death settling over the girl. He maintains his grip, knowing that sometimes with the magic up, the body may have a few spasms, fighting death, and sure enough, the heart flutters again, struggling to live. He maintains his grip, though, and the straps hold the loup down, and after a few more seconds, the body stills in final death.

Richard waits until the fur beneath his fingers melts away, then releases his grip and quickly unbuckles the straps holding the girl down. The cat is quickly replaced by a young red-headed girl, just entering puberty. Richard adjusts her body to lie on its back, pulling out a sheet from the cupboard to cover her nudity, then taking a few moments to massage her face, giving it a relaxed, peaceful expression instead of the nearly bestial scowl loupism had given her. The body presentable and the dirty job complete, he takes a long, shuddering breath, then forces his face to calm placidity, and departs the room, in dire need of a shower.

Tasha looks pensively at Richard riding beside her on his own horse. The job he volunteers for, she could never do, and knowing what he does grates deep on her own soul, her protective instincts at odds with ending the life of a child. Intellectually she knows it has to be done, but she could never do it, and deep inside she is disgusted with the knowledge that he does it, again and again, all with that calm look on his face as he exits the room. When they are crazy and berserk in the cage or free, it is easier, they are fighting back and the kill or be killed mentality comes into play. Since he had become Executioner, though, they are rarely free, but subdued beforehand and then laid to the final sleep as Lindsey had.

"You're stronger than me," she says, swallowing as they ride, two guards ten yards in front and two behind. "I could never do it."

"So long as I am here, you never will," he says in a hard tone, and she can tell his mind is elsewhere.

"Penny for your thoughts," she says gently, trying to help.

"This is my first magic flare," he says, his tone hard but thoughtful. "I can feel the inner me, pacing more and more. The urge to be harsher, to give in to the power, to rip and rend... it's indescribable."

"You feel more controlled," she observes, her own eyebrow quirked at him, disagreeing with his statement.

"That's me keeping control," he says with a frown. "And the damn hair growing an inch with each wave is pissing me off."

Tasha chuckles, her own hair also growing at an accelerated rate with each magic wave, "Any danger?"

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "It's just putting things in perspective for me, is all. The teens will be worst, and that just brings me to Joachim."

"Pelos was firm, and so was Noel," Tasha reminds him.

"He caused the death of one of my cats," he nearly snarls, he manages to keep is just short, but barely. "I had to put her down, because he was irresponsible."

"Let me speak to him," Tasha says, not a plea, but a request.

"We'll do it together," he growls, eyes scanning the darkness. "I'm less likely to go off the edge with you there."

"Will you be going to Pegasus Way later?" she asks after a moment.

Pegasus Way is the magic neighborhood in Houston, every major city had one. Atlanta had Unicorn Lane, Dallas had Rough Alley, El Paso had Juarez Mexica, and Houston had Pegasus Way. Places steeped with magic, even when the tech ruled the world, and a place where dangerous things lived, and only the suicidal or the insane ventured. Nothing soft survived there, cultists, escaped loups, magic creatures from myth and nightmares came to life there and fed on other monsters. Tasha knows that after a trying task, like the one he performed tonight, he will need to vent his anger and frustration, and often he goes to Pegasus Way, to satiate his need.

"Yes, once I've finished the ruling," he says with a frown and a nod.

"Take Adam with you, please," she says softly, concern deep in her voice. "I worry."

He sighs deeply, "I won't slow down, but he can come."

"As long as he can go," Tasha says with a sigh.

They ride the rest of the way to the Bastion in silence, the clopping of the horses' hooves the only interruption to their ride.

Richard stands on the roof of Hoffman resources, in his hybrid warrior form of half-man half-tiger, methodically tying his fitted armor in place. Most shapeshifters never used armor, and if they did it was only in beast form, and it was rare save for prepared heavy battles. Richard had begun having armor made for both his beast form and hybrid the moment he had gained the ability to assume each form. Though he favors roman fighting techniques and weapons, the armor for his warrior form is based off of the Japanese styles, silk coats and baggy pants with segmented plates tied over it, providing protection from head to his bare taloned feet.

Initially others had been skeptical and even scoffed at the idea, until they watched him practice in it at the Bastion. He stands now at just over seven feet tall, his muscled torso and limbs protected in armor, his flaming gladius at his side with other blades on his body, and an eight foot spear with a foot long blade on the top in hand as he bends his knees and tests the set of the secured armor. Adam is beside him in his own beast form, armor also strapped to his body, though not as elaborate as Richard's. Richard's had started as plain black with no frills and simple black and gray silk, but Tasha and her lions had stepped in and upgraded it, so now it is a muted blood red with black and brown accents. He is just glad that they hadn't added gold or silver to it, or he would have had an aneurism.

"Are you ready?" he asks, looking at Adam, who is shifting and hopping about, testing the set of his own, simpler vest armor to protect his vitals and chest.

The leopard in a canvas and leather tactical animal vest snarls slightly with a dip of its head, and Richard looks at Rosita a few feet away, who had helped them don their gear.

"I will try to be back soon, but I make no promises," he says as he hops to the roof's edge, his eyes now scanning the skyline as he holds the spear to the side. "Let Tasha know we wore everything, she'll feel better."

With that, he leaps off the building and across the street, landing softly and still moving as he runs from rooftop to rooftop across the city, a shadow briefly detaching to move from cover to cover as he makes his way to Pegasus. He falls into an easy rhythm, the dozen miles between his office and Pegasus Way melting quickly, and he hops to the ground at the edge in a nearly silent crouch in the middle of a double wide street that used to be a major thoroughfare before the Shift and magic returned to the world. He flares his nostrils as he drinks in the scents of the world around him, recognizing the magic in the air and some familiar scents of denizens of the Way.

He always checks the wanted and missing lists before venturing into the Way, knowing that desperate runaways and fugitives will hide here, as well as the random magic creatures that appear. If he runs across them, he makes a point to track and hunt them down, to return them to the authorities. A year ago, this was a possible safe haven for near suicidal maniacs with power or magical creatures or monsters on the run. Now, he stalks the Way at random intervals, causing the inhabitants to hide deeper in the rubble and shadows, and fear the possible tiger that may be lurking in their fallen urban jungle.

He strides into Pegasus way, eyes scanning the darkness, his spear held easily to one side, his ears straining the darkness and his inner beast eager for the confrontations for dominance that always results from a foray into the Way.

Three hours later and several encounters with magical beasts that lack definition from traditional mythos and pantheons, Richard is resting on a ledge near the center of Pegasus way, waiting for a gash on his knee to knit closed, a claw from a crystalline spider having scraped his armor and cut through the silk at the joint. The carapace now sits in a knapsack on his back with the heads of three cultists he'd stumbled across and recognized from a Paranormal Activity Division Wanted poster from the Texas Ranger's HQ. The crystal carapace had shattered his spearhead and resisted the throwing knives he had hit it with, and he figures it may make a decent shield boss.

As he sits on the ledge, below in the shadows, upwind, Adam lies in wait, patiently watching the street for movement. Adam's hair bristles for a moment, then he looks over his shoulder at Richard, tapping his paw in a quick cadence, code. Richard watches intently, then mentally translates the signal, _shapeshifter, non-pack, non-loup_. Richard sends a hand signal back, and after a moment's thought, Adam signals back, _less than one day_. A shapeshifter in the Way, the scent less than a day old, not from the Pack.

Shapeshifters travelling through other Pack's territory had to announce themselves formally within three days, if not they were subject to punishment for infringement on the Pack's territory. Almost all American and European Packs adhered to the custom, and everyone knew it. The question is whether this shapeshifter had been here longer than three days, and if he knew the rules, or is choosing to ignore it. Regardless, now that they had discovered him, they are duty bound to track him and find out.

Richard waits a few more minutes to let his knee finish its initial healing, then bounds off the ledge and next to Adam, his nostrils flaring next to the two hundred pound leopard. He catches the scent as well, and his eyes narrow, the scent… familiar, but not quite. He gestures for Adam to take the lead, he better with his feline nose than him, and stealthier as well, Richard quiet but not the silent the naturally born cat has. They prowl the shadows for twenty minutes, until Adam halts and hugs the crumbling roof they are on, edging slowly to the edge.

Richard lowers himself to all fours and slowly crawls forward as well, the scent stronger and more concentrated, they must be near the lair. The scent is older, he would guess a few days or longer, established and familiar to this part of the Way. His silent and slow crawl takes him to the edge, where he peers across a street and down through a window that has a drape over it, fluttering in the breeze. He cannot see past the drape, but its presence is significant, an occupant who doesn't wish to be seen. Around the window's ledge and wall he narrows his eyes and sees characters etched on the surface, Japanese, Chinese or something similar, he's not sure, but he knows it means there is a ward there.

"Recon, I'm clockwise," he says in a bare murmur, whispers carrying further and they part in silence moving around the house in opposite directions to check the perimeter and the area.

They meet back at the place they started two hours later, having taken their time to thoroughly check the area, and Richard draws a hasty sketch and softly describes the area, to which Adam nods or shakes his head and taps the ground soundlessly with a paw to make an adjustment. Richard is satisfied that there is only one occupant, and he thinks he is present, though not entirely sure, so they set into positions, him watching the front approach, Adam the back, and wait.

Three hours later, the dawn cracking horizon, the front of the crumbled building shudders and a wide board shifts to the side, revealing an entrance to the inside of the building, a cave or dwelling. A man in a brown cloak and a gray cloth wrapping his head emerges, shifting the board back into place, then moving to the shadows. Richard pounces immediately, not wanting to lose his quarry, and lands a bare six feet from the man, who spins about and brandishes a pair of short swords at him.

"Halt!" Richard snarls, his hands claws held at his sides as he squares off at the man, not wanting a fight, but answers.

The man pauses, obviously taking in the appearance of a fully armed and armored shapeshifter warrior form in traditional Japanese armor as the last thing he expected to see in Pegasus Way.

"I am Richard Michaels, of the Pack," Richard says in a more controlled tone, still ready and unyielding. "This is our territory, identify yourself and your intentions."

The man holds his pose for a long pair of breaths, then turns his head slowly to the side, "You are not alone."

The tone is soft, and has an accent Richard associates with Orientals, his guess on the ward being confirmed, "What is your purpose in my territory?"

"You are the Pack Lord?" the man asks, adjusting his stance slowly, preparing for a two fronted attack, but Richard remains unmoving.

"I am the Pack Executioner, and Alpha for the Cat Clan of the Houston Pack," he says solidly, his eyes flaring orange for a moment, his alpha gaze settling in. "Answer my questions."

The man glances back at Richard and then lowers his gaze in an act of submission and sheathes his swords in a showy flash, then lowering himself in what Richard recognizes as a traditional bow to his knees.

"I am Hyong Xiang," the man says, his face pressed to the ground and his hands, which are folded under his face on the ground. "I am the scout sent by my Pack to determine the truth of the tales told of the Khan of Houston."

"Your Pack? From where?" Richard asks, not relaxing, but keeping his guard up, he has been tricked before by falsely cowed foes.

"We hail from the West, we made our home in Fransisco prior to the Shift, and moved to Arizona when the Tower Builder toppled the California Clans."

Richard raises a lip in reaction, his memories deep and painful in regards to that series of incidents. He had been involved in trying to keep that mess under control from the military side and it had been a massacre. Roland had killed nine out of ten of the shapeshifters in California, driven half the remaining to loupism and the rest running for cover.

"I was there," Richard says in a softer tone, sensing the slight undercurrent of shame and sadness in the man's voice. "It was brutal and harsh. Why are you scouting me out?"

The man hesitates, then raises himself to his knees, raising his eyes to meet Richard's, "We are the were-tigers that survived. We seek a place to call home that is worthy of our presence. We heard of a were-tiger called Khan, here, and I am here to find the truth of the stories."

Richard senses no challenge in the man's eyes or gaze, despite the brief flash of orange that matches his own beast's. He looks at him for a long moment, then tosses his chin to the ruined house.

"Gather any belongings you value," he says with an unquestioned authority, straightening up. "Come to the Bastion, my home, and make your assessment."

The man blinks, surprised, then lowers his eyes and hurries back into the hovel. Richard tracks that Adam has shifted back to the rear to watch in case the man tries to run, but after only a minute or so, the man reappears, a worn sack tied over his shoulder, and he bows to Richard as he returns.

"I will lead, my cat will bring up the rear," Richard says simply. "Follow me, and prove your own worth, and that of your people."

Five hours later Hyong is walking next to Richard as they walk down the now brick paved road next to the great Viking longboat in his front yard, staring up at it in wonder. The man is cut and bruised, Richard having taken the hard way through Pegasus, and the man had proven to be an apt swordsman, though his martial arts skills far surpassed that. Richard is already thinking of getting Kung Fu lessons from the guy.

"What is that from?" Hyong asks in wonder.

"Viking Einjenhar," Richard says over his shoulder, carrying the carcass of a bear/spider hybrid they had encountered on the way back over his shoulder and he wanted to mount on the Bastion's wall. "They manifested shortly after I came around. I killed them, took their hoard and their boat."

Hyong clops his mouth shut, then continues to follow Richard in his warrior form to the gates of the Bastion. They stop thirty yards away, where a familiar Latino face stares at them over the ramparts.

"Halt!" Hermano shouts over the distance. "Call the code!"

"Eighteen fifty four! I'm tired and not up for crap! There had better be solid meat waiting for me when I get to my kitchen! It's been a shitty day!"

Hermano chuckles as he looks back and gives the word for the gates to be opened. Richard strides to the gates and speaks over his shoulder as they walk.

"You will have to give up your weapons and be searched," he says and stops at the threshold of the gates, turning to look at the man steadily. "You have my word that if you behave peaceably and do not act in a dishonorable fashion, your belongings will be returned to you. If you do not, I promise nothing."

Hyong pauses in thought as he looks at Richard, then past him at what he can see of the Bastion from the front gate. The buildings, training areas that are visible, the log house and barn give him pause, then he bows and begins to disarm and disrobe.

"Steve," Richard says, tossing the carcass to another guard who catches it with a stumble to balance the weight of the two hundred pound carcass. "I want that cleaned and examined, then hung on the walls like the other trophies. Take the sack, it has heads that need to be preserved until I get into town to claim the reward, and a carapace that I couldn't pierce with a blade, take it to Thomas in the forge to see what he can do with it."

The late teenage shapeshifter nods in understanding, taking the large carcass and sack away as Hermano is descending the stairs from the top of the gate, heavy leather vest and weapons on his person, as well as some firearms.

"Hermano, this is Hyong Xiang," Richard introduces to the short, mid-thirties Asian man beside him. "He is a guest, his Clan is considering petitioning to join Clan Cat. He is to be treated civilly by our customs. Once he is searched and checked, take him to the security office and brief him on his expected behavior while he is here. Do you understand?"

Hermano takes a swallow, uncomfortable, as he is usually not the lead on these things, "I believe so, Khan. I will do my best."

"I will send a member of the Pride to help along, Mischa if she's available," Richard says in an easier tone. "Handle security, and they will fill in the rest."

"Yes, Khan," the man says with an easier nod, then escorts the disarmed Hyong into the Bastion.

Richard pauses at the barn behind his house and takes a deep breath, shedding his fur and his seven foot frame to his compact human form. He opens his eyes and tosses off the armor, then sheds the kimonos and pants to step into the gravity shower to wash off before entering his house. As he steps in, another shapeshifter is collecting the discarded armor and clothing, Richard having taken the weapons belt to hang next to him by the shower. He towels off and pulls on sweats from the small shack next to the stall and walks into his house with a smile as he scents cooked meat on the air.

"Grilled smoked kielbasa?" he asks as he walks in, finding a platter on the table with smoke drifting up from it.

"And homemade cheese pierogis. It's what you usually prefer after a trip to Pegasus," Tasha says, pouring a second cup of tea for him at the counter. She is wearing a white blouse and burgundy leather vest over jeans and cowboy boots, her hair unbound and flowing over her back and shoulders in a carefully crafted mane.

"You know me so well," he says with a smile, taking the cup after a lingering kiss.

"Who's the stray?" she asks, gesturing to the gate where Hyong had come in.

"Found him hiding in Pegasus," he says, then explains how he had found him and the man's story.

"You were there when California was hit?" she asks, an eyebrow quirked in surprise, the question expected, but not right away.

"I had a very long career in the Army before I left, and a long life before the Pack, darlin'," he says with a sad smile. "It seems like a lifetime ago, and only yesterday."

"Feeling better?" she asks, holding his hand on the table, her eyes sympathetic and caring.

"Much," he says, yawning in between bites. "I'll be better after a nap, though. Can you send someone to help Hermano with the in briefing for Hyong? He's not used to taking point, and I'd feel better if one of your ladies was there to field tricky questions and non-security issues."

"I already sent someone," she says with a smile. "And I've slept already, and don't have anything until this afternoon."

"You're all mine?" he asks with a smile.

"No," she says with a mischievous grin and flash of gold in her eyes. "You're all _mine_."

Richard wakes in the late afternoon sun, alone in bed, though Tasha's scent lingers in the tangled blankets with him. He stretches, the scratches from the night before healed and he rubs absently at a long black scar on his knee. His injuries heal fine, but for about a month or so after, he has a black stripe across his skin from the injury, which then fades over a week to nothing but a slight blemish of a normal scar. He rises and takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing his finger length dirty blond hair with shampoo and conditioner, as Tasha had insisted that if he has long hair, he has to maintain it.

He dresses in jeans, green t-shirt and heavy black leather tactical vest, securing his gladius to his back and other assorted weapons on his person, including a 1911 on his hip. With the magic going up and down so quickly, its luck that it will be useable, but better safe than sorry. He runs his fingers through his hair with a scowl and walks out the back of the house, preferring a short cropped, tapered haircut with an occasional shadow of a beard on his face, not hair like this, it could be a liability in a fight. The magic waves coming so quickly and strongly are causing a growth spurt that can't be helped, and getting a haircut every couple hours is not in his best interests.

He walks out into the sunshine, only scattered clouds in the blue sky and warm weather, and he smiles as he walks up to the barn. He quickly and surely walks up the protruding four by fours that extend out in a stairway fashion, and strides to where Tasha is sitting cross legged with five women from the Pride, a young girl of twelve or so braiding her hair as they talk. They pause in their conversation as Richard approaches, and he sits next to Tasha after giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"What's up?" he asks, looking around at the leaders of the Clan Cat social network.

"We have been discussing Hyong Xiang," Tasha says and nods at Mischa, one of her senior lionesses from the Pride and her advisor. "Mischa spoke to him at length when he arrived, and has been filling me and the others in on their situation."

"We didn't talk much, after we met," Richard admits, looking around as he reaches to the platter of meats and cheeses in the center of the circle. "I know only the highlights. I will say that his martial training is extensive, he is very good with short blades and excellent with his hands. He can do partial shifts with his hands to form claws on his hands and feet while maintaining his human form."

"I've never seen someone who could do that," Nita murmurs thoughtfully from where she sits.

"Rosita can," Richard says with a frown at the woman, referring to the beastkin were-falcon he had brought to the Clan a year ago, then looks around as he continues. "And I have seen some other shapeshifters who could, though they were very powerful and controlled."

"Pelos can as well," Mischa adds with a nod. "I saw him do it once, when he was challenged, and was disarmed."

Richard quirks an eyebrow at that, "We will have to discuss that later, I would be interested to know the details of that fight."

"But Hyong's clan is his extended family," Tasha says, cutting off that line of discussion. "There are eighteen of them, seven are were-tigers, the rest are were-foxes, and their family immigrated to the US before the shift from China, illegally. And they don't count their human relatives. Half of them are still undocumented."

"That will bring red tape and hassles to bring them in," Nita says with a tisk. "And they have no resources or capital to bring to us as compensation. They have been a wandering clan since the California Exodus, as they call it."

Richard frowns at her, "Remember your place."

His tone is hard and his eyes flash briefly, causing Nita to duck her head in a stiff motion of submission.

"My apologies, khan," she replies, though she does not speak the title with the same level of respect as it does with others from the Pack. "I thought we were discussing, not proclaiming."

"Watch yourself, Nita," Tasha says this time, her hand on Richard's knee to keep him calm. "The flare causes us all to have high tensions. Be patient."

"Apologies, alphas," Nita says again after a pause, this time with sincerity.

"It will be a long process to bring them in, but if they need a home, we can provide it," Richard says.

"Provided they pass the screenings," Tasha adds.

"Of course," Richard says with a nod. "What has Hyong said since he arrived?"

"Muttering under his breath in what we are guessing is Chinese," Mischa says with a half-smile and a sigh. "It is in an awed tone, and he seems to be impressed. William is with him now, they should be finishing up the tour of the Bastion."

"I would feel more comfortable if we had a pair of our own doing the processing, not just one point of contact," Richard says as he looks around the group. "They may be matriarchal, like the Pride, but will still have male seniors. That they sent a male scout, tells me they respect the abilities of their men, so it may be a patriarchal, as normal Chinese families are. We'll need to set up to accommodate appropriately until we have a feel for it."

"I agree," Tasha says with a nod, munching on some chicken from the platter. "Mischa, you will be the female side, and help with the details. Who do you recommend on the other side, love?"

"I think Alex needs to get away from the business a bit, and stretch his legs in Clan and Pack politics," he says as he rubs his chin in thought. "Hoffman's is solid right now, we're back in the black and we had a solid growth of five percent last month. He's finished testing out the first two years of his degree, and needs some challenges to mix things up."

"That's something else we do need to discuss, khan," Mischa says with a glance at Tasha who nods for her to continue. "Alex has developed a… relationship, and it's concerning to many within the Clan and the Pack."

Richard pauses in thought, the conversation having turned on him, and he realigns his thoughts. After a moment, he grimaces.

"You are talking about Rosita," he says simply, frowning and shaking his head.

"No one dislikes her as a person," Nita says, shaking her head in sympathy. "But the fact remains that she is beastkin, and many of those have held over beliefs on the offspring of animal-weres. She is also an anomaly in that she is the only were-bird anyone has seen, a double impossibility that some say should be erased."

"We will not kill her, and she will _not_ be persecuted," he says in a growl, his eyes flashing as he looks around at the group. "As you said yourself, she is a good person, she was in a bad situation, and we won't be another."

The women nod in agreement, save Tasha who gives him a serious eye, and he nods to her, indicating that he will follow up on the issue on his own. They continue to talk of the details of bringing in so many new shapeshifters to the Clan, then discuss the upcoming petitions within the Clan, and Richard adds financial details from Hoffman's and from the members' tributes, referencing a leather binder he had brought with him. After an hour, the business of the Clan and Pack all up to date among them, the Pride leaves, Tasha and Richard remaining on the roof of the barn in privacy.

"They are chomping at the bit, you know," Tasha says with a sigh, leaning back against him.

"Because I'm a male in leadership," he says with a nod.

"That, but also because they didn't have much good leadership before you came, so they're still learning what right looks like," she says rubbing his thigh absently. "Hell, I still am, I just trust you and my instincts more. When we started this daily synch meeting, as you called it, they came to me and bitched and moaned for an hour about how it was unnecessary."

"I didn't know that," he says with a frown.

"I challenged them to tell me everything, individually, before the meeting, and if they were right on the major issues, I'd let them miss it," she says with a smirk.

"But we almost always have a full attendance from them, since the beginning," Richard says with a frown.

"Because they all failed, every time," she says with a chuckle, shaking her head. "They didn't know everything, and missed something. So, yes, we may repeat things most of us already know, but these sit downs keep us all on the same page and rowing in the same direction. It keeps us effective and unified."

"I'm rubbing off on you," Richard says with a smile, bending down and kissing her head.

"And you are trying," she says with a sigh. "Thank you for taking Adam last night. I know it grated on you, but thank you."

"He proved useful," he admits. "Two is better than one, and he's keeping up better."

"He's able to hold his warrior form for a full five minutes, now," she says, gesturing over to the training grounds. "When the flare comes, if he is able to keep control, and I think he will, then he'll be able to maintain it steadily for a shift. He's doing well."

Richard nods and they sit in companionable silence as they watch the activity within the Bastion. Richard can hear the younger Clan members and other youths from the Pack in the theatre, rehearsing an upcoming play, King Lear, and the assorted work parties building and improving houses in the Bastion. He knows there are also work crews beneath them, digging and refining the underground tunnels that form an underground complex below. The security men at the Bastion's ramparts patrolling, others training in the obstacle course and the weapons drill area. The regular activity calms them as they doze in the afternoon light.

"I need to go see Hyong," Richard says with a sigh after some minutes pass.

"I have a wager with Mischa," Tasha says, looking up from where her head lies on his chest. "Tell me if he is surprised that you are a round eye, and don't speak any Asian languages."

"I speak Cantonese, brokenly," Richard says with a smirk.

Tasha blinks, startled, "You never said you spoke anything but English and Spanish."

"I'm full of surprises," he says with a smirk, leans down and kisses her deeply for a long moment, then rises to his feet and turns to where he had seen and heard William completing the tour with Hyong.

The pair are nearly at the back deck of the main house, and Richard takes a two-step run and leaps the distance, landing in a crouch a half dozen yards from them. William is unperturbed, ready for the showy display of ability, and Richard rises from bent knees, some dust having risen from his landing. Hyong pauses as he studies Richard in his human form, then tosses his hands to the sides and drops to his knees in a traditional bow of the Chinese court, Richard is racking his brain for the proper terms.

"Rise, Hyong," Richard says in heavily accented Cantonese, a Chinese dialect and a language he hasn't used in six years now.

"I did not realize you spoke our word, khan," Hyong says in reply, though Richard pieces together some of it, as he is rusty.

"I am not quite fluent," he says with a so-so motion of his hand. "I understand, and can communicate, but I am not a poet."

Hyong fights a smile, Richard having mispronounced the last word, and switches to English, "I understand. If you wish, we can practice, so you can better speak the words of Han."

"I would be grateful," Richard says with a short nod of his head, recognizing that Hyong is formal and precise with his own movements and behavior. "You have seen my home, and watched me fight. Have you decided what you will tell your family, when you return?"

" _Hai_ ," he says with a nod and a bow mixed together. "It is not my place to say, but I know my family will listen to what I have to say. You should expect us to return before the next full moon."

Richard does the math in his head, "Two weeks, then?"

"If it pleases you, khan," the man says, depth of respect in his use of the title.

"I only hope you do not rush, I don't want you to forget anything, or have any issues," Richard says, wanting to offer the man a seat, but knowing he would refuse, it is their custom. "I want you to talk with my man, Adam, who fought with us last night. After you have met with your people, and they have decided, he will introduce them to my representatives, a lion and a lynx, who will help with the move and integration into the Clan, should they decide to come."

"Should they come or not, _I_ will return, khan," Hyong says with a deeper bow. "I have seen and heard what you have done, and I would be ashamed to miss the opportunity to serve with you and your people."

"You honor me with your words, Hyong Xiang," Richard says with a bow in return, but his gaze snags at the gates, where a trio of were-wolves in animal form are dashing through the gates. "I have Pack business to attend to, William."

"Yes, Khan," the blond haired young man says, leading the rising Hyong away as Richard strides to where the wolves approach.

He recognizes the scent as security from the Wolf Clan, the most numerous Clan in the Pack, and he notices the scroll tied to a collar worn by the lead wolf. They stop in front of him and lie on their stomachs, panting heavily from a long, fast run. Richard reaches down to the collar on the huge wolf's neck, screwing open the metal tube and pulling out the short scroll. He reads the contents twice, muttering for someone to get him a fast horse and his best security. When he finishes reading it the second time, Adam is leading saddled horses with two others. Richard hands the scroll to Tasha, who is walking up, having noticed the commotion.

"Tell no one," Richard says, hopping on his horse from the ground, then riding like hell through the gates to the Mansion. "Pull everyone in, full lockdown," he calls loudly in a voice trained to cut through the din of battle, and the shapeshifters living and working in the Bastion react after only a moment, shifting their tasks and duties to prepare for the influx of people.

Tasha looks down at the small, finger length scroll and her eyes are fixed on the simple sentence that sent her fiancé into action. _The Pack Lord's Mate is dead_.

Richard pauses at the front steps of the Mansion, meeting Noel there, his security keeping their distance and the house eerily quiet and inactive. Noel is a wide, heavy man with thick shoulders and slabs of muscle over his six foot frame, clothed in jeans, t-shirt and a heavy leather vest. His thick black hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and streaked with gray, matching stubble heavy on his square jaw. His hard, callused hands are square and stocky as well, and he has a dour expression on his face.

"What happened?" Richard asks in a soft tone, barely audible to the old were-bear.

"We're not sure, yet," Noel says, his head bent near Richard's as they have a private conversation, but his landslide of a voice holds concern in it. "We smelled something off, on the first floor, and we went to investigate. No one answered the quarters, but the guards knew that Richette had gone in, so they called me up from the basement. I found her dead."

"Where is Pelos?" Richard asks, his mind racing.

"In the city, at a meeting with the Tribes and the Norse, working on the Mercenary Guild monthly management meeting," he says. "Left five hours ago, likely won't be back for another hour or so."

"One of us needs to tell him," Richard says, glancing at the older man in the eyes. "If anyone else does, there's no chance of keeping him calm."

"I'll do it," Noel says, gesturing with his chin at where a pair of horses are waiting down the drive. "I sent you the note because you need to get on the scene now, start working leads and figure out what the fuck happened."

"Is Davey here?" Richard asks with a nod of understanding.

"Inside, we were working some files when I was called," Noel says.

"Good, I'll need him to help and get me some experts, the closed mouthed type," Richard says, gently patting the bear on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about Richette, I know she was kin to you."

"My niece, her mom was my sister, and a were-wolverine from her dad's side," Noel says with a nod.

"I'll do my best," Richard says, the best he can offer.

Noel reaches up and takes the younger man's shoulder firmly in his own hand and his eyes flash brown light of his beast's power, and his face takes on the air of an enraged grizzly.

"When you find them, I am part of the sentence," he growls, his words promising menace and pain.

Richard looks back and sets his own features firmly into their own alpha stare and replies evenly with a flash of his own eyes, "I can't promise that, and you should know better. But I will do what I can so you have release."

The bear snarls at him, and Richard can see the nearly physical effort of Noel pushing his anger and his beast down, then he nods and walks away, rage radiating off of him in waves.

Richard takes a breath and walks up the stairs, Adam on his heels, "Seal off the perimeter, and get a full list of all visitors and events for the last forty eight hours, every detail, every delivery, every piece of garbage tossed, how many birds crapped from the tree out back, _everything_."

"Yes, khan," Adam says, turning from him at the entrance and starting to snap orders to the two security people with him from Clan Cat and pulling the security from the Mansion to him to organize and pull together.

Richard stops in front of Davey, who is waiting at the foot of the stairs to the right of the front door, waiting with a deep frown on his face.

"Take me to the room," Richard orders, his whole demeanor locked into alpha mode. "Stay with me to confirm the scents and what I see. Do you have the polaroid?"

"Magic is up," Davey says in a confused drawl, his tall, lanky but muscled frame in jeans and a denim vest, his red/brown hair in mutton chops on his jaw.

"It won't be for long, it's been up and down, the flare's coming," he says, pausing on the stairs and shouting to Adam down below. "Camera!"

Adam reaches to the desk nearby and then tosses the polaroid camera to him. Richard hands it to Davey and instructs him to take pictures as he directs, then they are at the top of the stairs and outside the master bedroom door. They pause at the open door, and Richard parses the scents assaulting his nose, Richette, faint Pelos, the smell of bowels loosed from death that overlays that. He frowns and crouches, carefully inhaling again, trying to find any other oddities beneath the stench of shit and piss.

"I can smell the magic," Richard says calmly, his eyes narrowed in thought, still not having entered the room. "What do you smell?"

"The same," Davey says with a frown, his nose also fluttering. "I don't know from where, though."

"I smell jasmine, I think, separate from the perfume," Richard says with a thoughtful frown. "And a pair of spices beneath that, not sure what."

"M-scanner is here," Davey says, and Richard nods, having the tech from the Pack's security come in and scan the room.

Richard watches from the hallway, starting to analyze the scene in his head from what he can see. Richette is lying on her stomach, head twisted to the side, but not obviously broken, a small puddle of vomit trailing from her lips. None of the furniture is damaged, just the chair she had been sitting on that is toppled to the side with her, and the stain now on her robe and floor from her voided bladder. The room looks untouched, the drapes fluttering gently in the breeze from the window opened a hand's width.

The tech completes the scan, and Richard goes to the window, rubber gloves on his hands, and he crouches at the ledge, his eyes scanning for anything on the frame. He sees some dirt and some other dust collected, and he pulls a small ziplock bag and tweezers out, collecting it, then pauses, catching what looks like glitter catching the light on the edge and within the window frame. He carefully picks up the glitter and places it into a separate bag, then holds it up to the light, his eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Davey asks.

"Not glitter," Richard says carefully. "They are square, and not shaped right. It's a clue, but I'm not sure of what, yet. And that odd underscent is stronger here, check it yourself."

Davey comes to where Richard was, him having moved and now looking at Richette's body in more detail. His assessment from the hall had been wrong, she'd thrashed, knocking down items from the vanity she had been sitting at, makeup and perfume knocked over, but not broken. He clears her hair from her neck after Davey takes a photo, the magic receded and tech up. No bruises, no punctures, nothing to indicate she been given anything.

He frowns and pulls the side of her robe open, revealing her dark legs, and he finds what he is looking for, two punctures on her mid-thigh, an inch apart. The punctures have black around them, an indication of venom in the system that Lyc-V, the shapeshifter virus, was unable to defeat. Richard points at it, and Davey takes a picture, a deep frown on his face.

"Odds are that the glitter is actually scales," Richard says, looking at the floor around Richette, noting that hot tea had been spilled on the floor. "It looks like she was bit by a viper of some sort, a fast acting neurotoxin killed her. But look here, no tracks from the body, from where the wound was. Either the snake got lucky and was already out of range, or it flew off."

"Flew off?" Davey asks, pausing from taking another picture.

"The scales are very colorful, hinting at exotic, and it made it up here to the second story, past all the security," he says, rising and stepping back from the body. "Fang width makes me think a head only an inch and half wide, meaning a smaller snake, but with concentrated venom. European snakes don't fit the profile, maybe Asian, Indian or South American. An analysis of the scales will give us a direction, then we can develop some leads from that avenue."

"How can you be so calm?" Davey asks, his eyes still holding a trace of shock, looking at the dead Pack Lord's mate on the floor.

"Someone has to be," Richard says in a hard tone. "Ranting and raving will do nothing but waste time and energy. The sooner we get started on analyzing the evidence, the sooner we can find out who did this, and why. Then we track them down, and hold them accountable."

"Looking forward to that," Davey says with a growl and a nod.

"We can't get to that if we don't do the work, which requires thought and patience, not blind anger," Richard snaps with a growl of his own warning. "Keep it together."

"Yes, khan," Davey says with a nod of apology.

"Get the med techs in here to collect the body, but after Adam and my guys take a run over the room, like I did, so I can compare notes with them," Richard says, looking around at the room. "Then they can clean up, and get her presentable for the Pack Lord. He shouldn't see her like this."

"What if he gets here before we finish?" Davey asks, a worried look on his face.

"Let me worry about that," Richard says. "I'll be on the front porch correlating and looking over data, I should be able to cut him off."

Richard gives instructions to Adam, who is coming up the stairs, then goes to the front porch, where people are bringing him reports and info they had requested. He is sorting it into piles, and when Adam returns from his evaluation of the scene, he compares what they found, and they continue to sort and sift through the info they have. Two hours later Pelos and Noel are riding lathered up horses through the gates, and Pelos' pale hair and olive toned skin is radiating hate and rage as he leaps off the horse and storms to the Mansion.

"Take me to my Mate!" he yells, his eyes flashing silver with power as he nearly runs up the stairs.

Richard places himself in front of him, meeting the charge, for good or bad, "They moved her downstairs, sir."

"How could you let this happen?!" Pelos shouts and swings at Richard.

Richard sees the blow coming but does nothing to block it or stop it, though he could have, and he takes the downward punch hard. He tilts his head to let the blow strike his cheek and not jaw, and his head swims as he staggers from the force of the punch. He keeps his feet though and looks back at Pelos, blood dripping from a rough gash on his cheek and nose. Pelos follows up with a punch to his stomach, then tosses Richard from the porch onto the front lawn by his leather vest, rage fueling his movements.

Richard takes the hit and rolls on the lawn, readying himself for the next attack. Pelos strikes and he blocks it, but takes the savage kick to his side, feeling a rib crack from the hit. He uses the momentum of the kick to roll away from the next kick, and watches as Pelos leaps high and brings his hands down in a two handed fist, a hammer strike he blocks painfully with his forearms. Pelos kicks Richard in the stomach in a follow up, and again Richard doesn't block or evade, taking the hit that knocks the wind from him.

Pelos is on top of him now, straddling him and swinging down at him, and he has his own arms up, blocking and deflecting the attacks, but receiving a lot of punishment. Someone is shouting in the background, Noel, and slowly Pelos hears him and slows his attacks, finally pausing with a fist raised to strike again, his senses returning. Richard shifts his battered arms to look at him from his shattered nose, cut and beat face and scuffed up vest. Pelos lowers his fist and rises smoothly, stepping off of Richard and towards the Mansion, not saying a word. Richard rises painfully to his feet, his body protesting the movements, and he takes a few breaths to steady himself as he watches the Pack Lord walk away to the Mansion to see his dead Mate.

"It's been a long time since I've seen him lose his temper," Noel says quietly from beside him, turning to Richard. "Years, actually. I didn't think he'd attack you. I'm sorry."

"He just lost the woman he loved," Richard says, spitting blood onto the lawn and sighing. "He needed to get it out of his system, and better him going after me than someone else, who'd probably die in the encounter."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Noel asks, genuinely curious.

"I've never seen him fight," Richard says with a shrug. "If I'd fought back, and done too much damage, the fight would have turned real, and I'm not sure which one of us would have won. Besides, I've got nothing against him, he's grieving, and grief and anger will make you do odd things."

Noel shakes his head with a frown, "I'm glad you're on our side, Michaels."

"Me, too," he says with another stream of bloody spit going to the ground. "I'm going to go over the data more, but I have an initial theory. When he's calm and ready to listen, I'll fill you both in."

Noel nods and pats Richard on the shoulder before walking away. The friendly gesture hurts, but he doesn't react to the pain, knowing that the shapeshifters around him will sense the weakness, and he needs to betray nothing if he wants to keep the Executioner position without having to fight off a challenge.

Richard is sitting in his chair in the Mansion's Ballroom, it cleared and cleaned from the day before, and now only the Alphas sitting around in their council. He had explained to Pelos and Noel his theory of a flying viper as the cause of death, and the med techs are confirming. Tasha had shown up thirty minutes later with the other Alphas of the Clans, the word having spread. She had frowned over his battered body, then kissed him tenderly and helped change the bandages on his ribs.

"So a flying viper entered through the window and bit her?" Mr. Domasca asks with a frown. "How did it get through the perimeter? The wards?"

"The wards are up and down quickly with the shifts coming and going so fast before the flare," Richard explains. "And I'm looking through the logs, to see where it may have slipped through. Once the analysis of the scales and venom give me a breed and geographic location of origin on the snake, I'll be able to look at supply options, and shake that down."

"The other avenue is who would want Richette dead?" Noel says in his gruff voice, anger underlying it. "We have no shortage of enemies that would love to see us suffer."

"There's no telling if this is an isolated incident or a prelude to something else," Richard says firmly, looking around at the gathered Alphas. "I cannot tell everyone in the Pack to lock up at every attack or setback that happens, and that would be a hindrance on our normal activities. I have initiated a recall drill and lockdown at the Bastion, as an initial precaution."

"Do you know something we do not?" Mr. Jay, the head of Clan Jackal asks, his tone smooth but menacing.

"No," Richard says simply, shaking his head with a calm expression. "I'm just paranoid by nature, and am preparing for the worse, as I always do."

"Yet our 'paranoid' Executioner allowed the mate of our Lord to be murdered in his own house," Mr. Domasca snarls across at Richard.

"If the wolf will recall, I am not in charge of security anywhere but at the Bastion," Richard replies, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed posture, his face calm and seemingly detached. "I make recommendations and if I recall correctly, Wolf Clan handles the bulk of the security at the Mansion."

"We're the most numerous, that is why, kitty cat!" Domasca snarls across at Richard, his eyes flashing with his wolf.

"Speak to me like that again and I will cut out your tongue. I hear it takes a shapeshifter months to grow it back, and the silence would be ambrosia to us all, I think," Richard says in that same calm, deadly voice, his mouth twitching to smirk.

Domasca rises from his ornate chair, ripping his shirt as his warrior form spills out, and he snarls across the semi-circle at Richard, who remains reclined and relaxed. The wolf-man starts to stride across the short distance, but Pelos speaks up.

"Enough!" Pelos shouts, his eyes flashing silver as he rises and glares at Domasca. "My mate is dead and you bicker like a child. You dodge issues and shirk your own duties to blame others. I will hear it _no_ _more_!"

Domasca stops, then lowers his head and kneels before the Pack Lord, his words a growl escaping his fanged maw, "My apologies, my lord. The magic and the anger at the death of your mate have aggravated me beyond reason."

"I mourn," Pelos says evenly. "Michaels will find those responsible, and then the Pack will have justice. Stop quibbling."

"Clan Wolf will do all we can to help in the investigation," Mrs. Domasca says from her seat, a slightly worried expression on her face.

"My people have the raw data and evidence for processing," Richard says, addressing everyone. "It won't be long until we know more."

"You will keep the council informed," Mr. Jay says, glancing at the other alphas, now six couples and Pelos sitting in a semi-circle.

"As necessary," Richard says with a nod of acknowledgement, though his head is already six moves ahead, wondering if one of the people in this room may be responsible. What a chipper thought…

"I noticed the phrasing," Tasha says as she locks the soundproof security office below the Mansion. "What are you thinking?"

"We have a house divided, within the Pack," Richard says. "Loose alliances and near enemies."

"Someone in the Pack may have done it…" Tasha says, trailing off in thought. "There are some petty rivalries, but I can't see anyone wanting to kill Richette, everyone liked her, and though she was a firmer hand than Pelos, and more willing to fight, she rarely had to. She did the politics well."

"Assassinate, not kill," Richard says with a thoughtful frown and a shake of his head. "She was targeted, and very carefully. I've seen her fight once, and I can only think of four people in the Pack that could have taken her, not counting Pelos."

"You don't think Pelos could have taken her?" Tasha asks, her eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

"He railed on me pretty good, but he didn't have the trained reactions of a dedicated fighter," Richard says with a shake of his head. "Even when I'm out of control in a rage of anger and pain, my body falls into the habits of my training, I do combos, blocks and targeted strikes out of habit. Either he doesn't have them, or he was fighting hard to hide it."

"Are you saying you could beat the Pack Lord in a fight, you just choose not to?" Tasha asks very carefully, looking at him intently.

"In a fair fight, I think so, yes," Richard says with a nod. "But I don't want to be Pack Lord, not now."

"Later?" Tasha asks, this the first time they had ever talked about this particular future.

"Que sera sera, darlin'," Richard says with a sigh. "Whatever will be, will be. Let's get through this mess first."

There is silence for a moment, until Tasha breaks it.

"He sometimes looks at me, like he wants me," she says in a rush, frowning hard. "It started last year, when you were gone. Noel saw it too, and I've been careful to avoid him, but he looks at me with… heat, desire, sometimes. It's rare, but…"

Richard closes his eyes and holds very still as she talks, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and his breathing measured and even. His instincts are telling him to go on a rampage, someone having looked at his mate in a fashion he does not approve of, but he cages that set of thoughts and forces himself to calm. He starts to think through the implications then speaks.

"If he wanted you bad enough, it is a possibility he killed her to open up the position of his mate for a stronger match," he says in a deadly calm voice, striving for distance. "You are more dominant than any other female in the Pack, though you still need to up your fighting skills. Your magic is strong and you are better liked than Richette was, and if he isn't blamed, then he keeps the goodwill from her and the grieving husband card."

Tasha is pensive as she hears his cold analysis, and he continues, shaking his head, "But that's fitting a suspect without evidence. He's on the list, but we have dozens of others, and recognizing another woman is attractive is a far cry from being willing to kill your own wife for a mistress you don't have."

Tasha starts to nod, but pauses, asking with an edge of anger, "Did you just refer to me as a mistress?"

Richard sighs and places his face in his hands, "Please, just let me work this. Please."

Tasha takes a calming breath, "Fine. I'll look at the networks in the Pack, see if I can find some possible suspects whose motives may have been strong enough against either Pelos or Richette."

"Or Noel," Richard adds with a nod. "He's blood, and that's a possible avenue of vengeance. Don't look for a bad guy, look for the indicators, and then have those with the most indicators on the top of the list, but anyone with an indicator is on the list."

"That's going to be a really long list," Tasha says as she mentally pictures the numerous people who have had a beef with the Pack Lord, or his wife, or the Alpha of Clan Heavy.

"I didn't say it would be easy," he says, looking to the file cabinets on a wall. "I'll be doing the same with people and organizations outside the Pack."

"What do we do when we have our lists?" she asks, not wanting to contemplate how long it will take to make their big, complicated lists.

"Then we check everyone on the list to eliminate them as a suspect until we have only one, the one who did it," Richard says with a sigh, rising and heading to the files.

"What if we eliminate everyone on the list?" she asks, sighing at the enormity of the tasks ahead.

"We check again," he says simply, opening the cabinets and pulling out reports.

Richard is sitting in the security wing underneath the Bastion, having moved here after exhaustively going through the paperwork at the Mansion to pull what he needed with the help of Adam and his people. Now, eight hours later, he's in his own security office, looking at the huge corkboard on the wall with sheets of paper pinned to it, names and photos with bios and incident reports connecting them to his people of interest. He has twenty seven suspects from outside the Pack that have enough indicators to make it on the board, and fifteen from within the Pack. Forty two suspects to start off with, and now he's holding the autopsy report in his hand, as well as the analysis on the venom and scales.

His initial assessment had been right, a flying snake venom was the cause of death, and the scales and venom belonged to a species that is commonly found in South America. They are sold on the black market, and can be controlled with a pair of magic rings, one on the snake and one on the user. He's familiar with it, because he had worked a case with the Rangers a few years ago when it was used as an assassination method on a visiting dignitary from New York, and it had led down a similar vein. The snake and ring are expensive and hard to get, meaning the perp had to have money and more than a passing desire to end Richette's life.

He starts eliminating the poorer suspects from the board, unless their finances have been odd, and he now has eighteen remaining on the board. Of those, only three don't seem to have enough of a beef or reason to go to such lengths, and he shifts them to the side, possibilities, but not top suspects. Of the remaining fifteen, six are members of the Pack, and the remaining nine are outsiders, two of them being individual people, the others organizations. He pulls a clipboard from a desk next to him and starts writing down the names and making assignments for Adam and his people to investigate.

When he's finished, he re-writes his initial assignments, checks the abstract summary of the case that Adam had written up, and goes in search of the were-leopard. He finds him in the house's gym, lifting weights with William, both in sweats and ripped shirts.

"Initial assignments for the investigation," Richard says, holding up the folder and handing it to him. "You and I are the main investigators, I don't trust anyone else to maintain impartiality and read the suspects right. I'm partnering you with folks from that investigation agency we bought earlier this year, they have experience smelling lies and misdirection, don't be afraid to use their expertise."

"Yes, khan," Adam says with a nod, looking through the folder. "This is a lot of suspects."

"We have a lot of enemies," Richard replies with a shrug. "We are not rushing through them, though. Methodical and thorough are the watchwords."

"Doesn't the Pack Lord want the guilty caught quickly?" William asks, unsure.

"Only on TV and in novels are mysteries solved quickly and easily," Richard chides them, something he has been teaching them along with bodyguard detail and security. "Real cops and investigators catch the bad guy because they take their time, do it right, and make fewer mistakes than their quarry."

"This is a long stalk, finding someone who had hunted in your territory a day after the kill," Adam says, helping the explanation and Richard's best student so far. "If you rush the track, you miss the trail, the indicators on what your quarry is, and you may lose him. The khan is right, we must do this right, or not at all."

"Good," Richard says with a nod. "I will handle the Pack Lord, just keep at the job, and we'll find the guilty."

Richard leaves them and returns to the Bastion outside, still wearing the jeans, vest and t-shirt with his weapons on it. He mingles a bit with those who have gathered in the call out, and he eventually makes his way to where the latrines are being re-dug. He finds Joachim and his accomplices lining the pit with stones and doing masonry to reinforce it. He crosses his arms and watches them work from twenty yards away, then goes to speak with the supervisor of the detail before approaching the teens.

Joachim has an arm in a sling, the bone broken from where Richard had hit him, and his jaw wired shut. Richard stops in front of them, and they stop working, looking at the ground as he glares down at them from level ground.

"Come with me," he growls, and they follow him across the Bastion to one of the armories in the Roman-like fortification.

He leads them inside, then down the stairs in the back into the depths of the Bastion's tunnels. The tunnels are reinforced by hand with wood, stone and mortar, ensuring that it will survive magic or tech waves. They follow the paved floor and stairs two levels down and into a room with a higher ceiling than most, and with a natural granite wall worked smooth on one wall. Richard leads them into the silent room, the hollowed out natural cave cool and with a quiet feel to it reminding them all of a tomb.

Richard stops in front of the granite wall, staring at the names etched into plaques on the wall with dates below them and a phrase. The teens study the names and dates, silent as the Alpha before them, and after a few moments of silence, Richard speaks quietly into the funereal quiet.

"These are the names of all the Loups I've had to kill since I joined the Pack," Richard says, walking to the names to the right, his fingers gently tracing names and dates, his mind recalling each one vividly. "These on the right were adults, and none of them we were able to sedate and try to treat. The names on the left…" he crosses to the other list of names, more than a dozen of them, including a new plaque added the day before.

"These were children who succumbed to the Lyc-V in their systems for one reason or another," Richard says, having not looked at the teens since they had left the latrine, and their eyes follow where his fingers trace the names, lingering on _Lindsey Sochim_. "I had to kill them, because they could not be saved. Their cause of death is Loupism, and most of them could not be avoided, but I had to stop their hearts from beating, put an end to their mortal coil."

He turns to the teens now, and his eyes flash orange, his voice dropping to a growl, and the teens drop to a knee in response to the alpha stare.

"Lindsey's death was caused by you, all of you," he says in a hard tone, the teens before him shaking in barely contained fear. "You deliberately caused the death of a Child of the Pack, of Clan Cat. By Pack Law, I am within my rights to demand your deaths."

The teens stink of fear now, and one whimpers openly as the menace and rage in Richard's voice penetrates the adolescent mind. Richard says nothing, only looking down at the teens before him, letting the silence settle deep before speaking again.

"You will be working here, at the Bastion, for the foreseeable future," he growls, looking at their bowed heads. "You will go to school, here, home and nowhere else without my permission. Whichever Clan you belonged to before, you are now mine. The other alphas and Pack Lord know and agree. You stole away a young girl from a family that already lost children to loupism, and you will work hard to compensate for the loss, though you will _never_ succeed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, khan," the teens intone, Joachim murmuring his own assent through his wired shut jaw.

"Back to your chores," Richard growls and the teens flee from him.

Richard lingers, listening to the teens nearly run down the halls away from the room he stands in. He had it made when they had found the granite stone in the path of their digging. He had been pondering a way to remember those who had passed within the Clan and Pack, and this seemed appropriate at the time. He turns and gently runs his fingers over the last plaque again, his thoughts recalling the act of killing the young girl as she slept.

"I do not blame you," Atticus says from the entryway, Richard having barely heard him approach from down the hall. "I had to kill the others, while I had no medicines to keep them sleeping, and while telling their mother it had to be done."

"The day may come, when I have children of my own," Richard says, turning with his hand still on the plaque, his face grim. "I do not know if I will have the strength to do the same, as I did for you. In that, I suppose you are stronger than I, my friend."

Atticus is arm's length away now, and he reaches over to the slightly shorter man, his long, greying hair tied back in a loose bundle behind his head. He looks even older than his forty four years, the death of his child having pulled more wrinkles into his face and exhaustion painting his features.

"You will not have to, my khan," Atticus says with a sad smile as he pats him on the shoulder. "We are family, now, truly. We will bear it together."

Richard pats his arm in a comradely fashion, nodding solemnly, "When is the funeral?"

"We have the wake tomorrow, and we bury her in the Clan cemetery," Atticus says with a sigh, keeping his hand on Richard's shoulder, a steadying gesture.

"I will attend," Richard says with a nod.

"Is Pack Lord's mate really dead?" Atticus asks after a moment, lowering his arm.

"Yes," Richard says with a sigh. "I'm tracking down leads now on who may be responsible."

"Is the Pack Lord coping well?" Atticus asks as they turn from the room and begin to walk back to the surface.

"He raged on me for a few minutes when he got to the Mansion," Richard says, mentally wincing at the still healing rib.

"They are saying that you didn't raise a hand to him, and he simply beat on you, and you were barely able to defend yourself," Atticus says with a raised eyebrow.

Richard smiles tightly, "I doubt anyone from our Clan said that."

"No," Atticus says with a shake of his head, sighing. "Wolves were helping with the preparing of Lindsey's body at the funeral home. They were gossiping. I heard it and kept my mouth closed. I remember how you moved on our journey back, and I still have not seen Pelos move in a fighter's way. And they said you had weapons, but pulled nothing."

"I knew he was grieving, I gave him a target that was safe," Richard says with a shrug.

"I would not call you a safe target," Atticus says with a frown, then pauses, glancing at the empty hall, and speaking in a very low tone. "If you need me, ask, and I will come. I am your man, and Pelos feels wrong to me… I do not know what animal he is."

"I never doubted it, brother," Richard says with a sad smile, patting him on the shoulder, then sighing. "And neither do I, and yes, that bothers me a lot."

They continue striding up through the bowels of the Bastion, and are soon back in the sunshine, and Richard walks towards his house as Atticus goes elsewhere, leaving each to their thoughts. Richard pauses at the training area, where a number of his people are training on the wooden posts with axes, swords and spears, and he watches them stoically while his mind wanders on other topics. His list of suspects is still big, and he needs to narrow it down, though he can't if he's honest with the potential political motives within the Pack, as well as outside of it. Too many people have something to gain with a deststabilized Pack and a distraught Pack Lord, and even Pelos has a potential ulterior motive, based on what Tasha has told him.

A number of outsiders would normally be excluded from his list, as they don't know the identities of the Pack Lord or his mate, but the method of assassination and location means they didn't have to know. All they had to do was send in the snake to where they know the Pack headquarters is. He is mentally reviewing and cataloguing the suspects when he notes the front gates opening, and Tasha rides in with two of her guards. He approaches her as she looks at him and moves in his direction, but motioning to the house. He waits on the porch, and she dismounts and approaches quickly, motioning inside.

"I have three possible suppliers for the snake and the rings," she says once the door is closed and they are alone.

"What about separate for each?" he asks, having put her on gathering the info on the suppliers, as her intelligence network is better on that end than his.

"Five for the rings alone, and those three are the only places they could get the snake within two hundred miles," she says, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing him a list.

"I'll go check in with the Rangers, see if I can narrow it down," he says with a thoughtful frown. "Davis and I worked a case with a similar MO, and he can probably help."

"You know we can't tell him why," she reminds him.

"I know, but he'll trust me, if I ask properly," Richard says with a shrug. "And I can probably get him to help with questioning, he doesn't need to know specifics, only that I need to know about the supply in the last week or so."

Tasha nods, taking a breath and sitting on the couch with a sigh, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm trying to focus on the investigation, and not Pelos," he says with a clenched jaw. "I hate being distracted, and between the magic and the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy, I'm having problems."

"I understand," she says, rubbing her head as he sits next to her. "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing, for now," he says with a sigh, running his fingers through his lengthening hair. "The death of his wife is too fresh, and I can't prove anything right now. I know you've been careful on your interactions with him, and we'll just have to keep it up. We'll see how my hunt goes for the killer, then go from there."

Tasha nods, her hand on his leg as she leans her head on his shoulder, "We didn't really get a chance to celebrate, you know."

"Hmm?" he mutters, wondering what she's talking about.

"This," she says, holding her hand out with the ring on it. "We went straight from new engagement to Lindsey, then Richette's death. I'm still trying to adjust."

Richard snorts, smiling, "What's to cope with? You live here, have for quite a while. You call me mate, and I can't imagine life without you. We're just changing the title of our relationship, we committed quite a while ago."

Tasha turns her head and looks at him with a slow, cat-like smile, "Committed, huh?"

"I thought I was obvious," he says with a playful tone.

"You were," she says with a grin, snuggling into him, and pushing him onto his side, lying on top of him. "Calling this my den, inviting me so openly. The Power of Attorney really threw me for a loop, though."

"I'm a practical man, and a romantic at heart," he says with a smile, gently stroking her hair. "I would elope in a second if you asked, though I think the Clan would throw a riot, not being able to attend and throw a party."

She adjusts her head to perch her chin on his chest, peering at him with narrowed eyes, "Richard Michaels, if that's all that's holding us back, then I accept the challenge."

"Huh?" he asks eloquently.

"I can have a huge party and banquet in two weeks or less, we are able to host all of the Pack within the Bastion, after all," she says with raised, theatrically haughty eyebrows and a sniff. "My Pride has been chomping at the bit, and we arrange gatherings and meetings all the time."

"Okay," he says with a smile. "Set the date."

"Two weeks, on the twentieth," she says with a smile. "It will keep Nita and most of Pride focused on something besides Richette and the social networks."

"And a spot of sunshine in everyone's world in the Pack," he adds. "The Xiang family may even get here in time to attend. Though I do have a real question to ask…"

"Go on," she says, answering his raised eyebrow.

"Will you take my name, or hyphenate yours?" he asks with a smile.

She shimmies up on him and straddles him on the couch, leaning down with her hair falling to the side, her nose nearly touching his. Her breath is musky and he relishes in the scent as she whispers throatily in response.

"I am eager to be Mrs. Richard Michaels," she says, and kisses him passionately.

Richard is standing in the hallway of the Mansion, a folder and clipboard under his arm as he waits in the hall outside a secure meeting room under the building. Pelos had asked for an update brief on the investigation, and Richard had convinced him to have it in private, just the two of them. The reasons are two fold, one is to update the Pack Lord, the other is have an airing out between them. Things need to be said so that their understanding is clear between them, not an unsaid implication of the status of the Pack Lord and his Executioner.

Pelos opens the door, and Richard enters as Ms. Jameson exits the office with Mr. Jay, having discussed the status of the new Clan Bouda. Richard nods politely and enters the room, closing the door behind him. Pelos is sitting at the table in the room, a glass of water and pitcher in front of him, a tray of meats and cheese on the table as well. Richard sets down his notes and files, and accepts the glass of water from the Pack Lord.

"You'd better have some answers, Michaels," Pelos says firmly, not a growl but clearly an order.

Richard pauses before speaking, keeping his voice calm, and says in a firm tone of his own, but calm and soft for all that, "I understand that you are in a difficult place right now, and you are both angry and grieving. But if you continue to push me without good cause, or even with good cause, I will have to push back eventually."

Pelos blinks in surprise, having been caught completely unawares, "Watch your tone, cat. I have ruled this Pack for nearly fifteen years, and have never lost a challenge. Do not threaten me."

"I was not threatening you," Richard replies calmly to the angry response. "I am making an observation. I do not want us to come to blows. That would cause damage and division within the Pack, and leave us all vulnerable to others that wish us harm. I do not want that, and I know that you, as a responsible leader and Alpha, do not want to put your own people at risk, either."

Pelos' jaw is clenching at Richard's words, and after a few moments, he relaxes slightly and leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the other man.

"You surprise me, soldier," Pelos says evenly. "I did not expect a counselor's approach from you. Tasha, yes, but not you."

"I was a leader of alpha males in an infantry unit for over a decade," Richard says with a shrug. "I have experience dealing with angry people who have power and deal in dominance games."

"This is no game," Pelos replies calmly.

"No, this is not," Richard agrees, shaking his head, then opening his file. "I have over a dozen suspects right now, a number of them organizations rather than individuals. I'm developing leads with the supply and insertion methods of the assassination, and that's where I think we'll get the most traction."

"How long?" Pelos asks, his right forefinger tapping the table absently.

"As long as it takes," Richard says with a frown. "I won't lie and say it will be quick. I will do this right, or not at all. This is a long hunt against a well funded and connected enemy, if my initial assessments are right. That means the tracks will be covered well, cut-outs will have been used, and intermediaries."

"Explain," Pelos says, frowning in thought.

"I know how I would do this," Richard says frankly. "I would use a professional proxy to hire a cut-out, then use him to manage other cut-outs and do the hiring and arrangements. Then, when the job is done, or near enough, I'd kill that lead cut-out, destroy his home and work place."

"So it's hopeless, you're saying," Pelos says with a growl, rubbing his long hair.

"No, I'm saying that a true professional would have done it that way, but most people are not that good," Richard says with a shake of his head. "And the level of competence needed for the head proxy or cut-out is high enough that he wouldn't be an easy mark to take out, or he'd have contingencies in place to burn whoever decided to take him out."

Pelos ponders this as he looks at the tabletop, then back up at Richard, "Can you catch the ones responsible?"

"I can find out who is responsible, yes," Richard clarifies. "But this is a very complicated dance, and it is possible that the one who orchestrated this may not be local. And if they were, they may have skipped town, to confuse the trail. There are a lot of possibilities. If it's possible to catch them, I will. That is the best I can promise you."

Pelos' jaw clenches, and he closes his eyes as he digests Richard's words. They sit in strained silence until Pelos opens his eyes again, the flash of silver in them.

"I am angry beyond measure, and am frustrated more than words can describe," Pelos says, his voice strained. "But I appreciate your candor and honesty. Continue your search, and keep me informed."

"Yes, sir," Richard says with a nod, collecting his papers and standing.

"Who is the top suspect?" Pelos asks, and Richard responds without hesitation.

"Roland or one of his subordinates," he answers. "Their hate and agenda is no secret to us, they would gain the most by our destabilization. I'm recommending altered patrol routes and increased size in our reaction teams, in case its part of a larger effort."

"Lockdown procedures?" Pelos asks.

"I don't want to send a message that we're scared or doubt our capabilities, since an enemy target hasn't been presented yet," Richard replies.

"Good idea," Pelos says with a nod, then waves dismissal.

Richard is sitting on the barn's platform within the Bastion, his quarterstaff in hand as he goes through a slow practice set meant not for attack combos, but for breathing and calm. He had learned it from a friend in the army who had studied Tai-Chi, and the slow, controlled movements help him focus and calm down. He absently hears the signal that someone is approaching, an ally, but he ignores it, as Adam is on shift and no warning shouts have sounded, so he continues his form.

He hears the steps up the boards on the side of the barn as a group approaches, and he closes his eyes in concentration as the scents and sounds reach him. He focuses while continuing his dance with the weapon, parsing out the people based on the sounds and scents.

"Six people, four mine, Huang Xiang, and someone else, the scent is similar but older," he says softly, though the shapeshifters standing on the roof nearby would be able to hear him.

He opens his eyes and confirms his assessment, and is glad to see he had identified his people and Huang properly. The other with Huang is another Asian featured man, but he is very old, looking to be in his sixties or seventies, shriveled with age but still having a wiry strength about him. Richard eases his stance and faces them, as they bow deeply to him in respect, to which he bows in return, though not as deeply.

"If it would please the Khan," the older man says in broken English. "His parries and footing is off, and in need of adjustment."

"I studied only Krav Maga and Jui-Jitsu in the Army," Richard responds. "I have very little formal training in other forms and styles, only in the practical application of weapons and hand to hand that are a combination of techniques and disciplines."

Huang speaks softly, translating and clarifying Richard's statement, and the old man bows deeply again, and Richard studies the man's appearance and garb. The man is five and a half feet tall, on equal height with Richard, though likely weighing a good forty pounds or so less. He wears robes that remind Richard of Chinese courts, and he recognizes the look of silk in the undergarments and over-robe. The patterning is fine and detailed, though he can see and feel the age of the garments, and he suspects this is the man's most formal attire, old and worn.

"I apologize for my simple attire," Richard says in his own broken Cantonese. "If I had known of your arrival, I would have dressed appropriately to receive you."

"When training, we wear training garb," the man says with a duck of his head, glancing at Huang for a moment then at Richard again, his eyes searching and assessing him.

Richard says nothing, allowing the man to look him over and study him without provocation.

After a few moments, he speaks, breaking the silence, "I am surprised to see you so soon. Huang Xiang had indicated it would take some time for your family to gather and move."

"They are doing that, sir," Huang says with a nod, glancing at the older man. "But this is Grand Father, he is the Patriarch of our family, and after I gave them my statements, he insisted on coming ahead, to see the Khan for himself."

"Perhaps this will satisfy the Sensei more than sloppy Tai-Chi and round-eye features," Richard says with a smirk, setting down the staff then shifting and shedding his human form.

He had been practicing bare-chested, and the sweatpants he had been wearing tear and fall to the ground in tatters. He stretches and shifts, a seven and a half foot tall mix of a man and a tiger, his features an elegant and aesthetically pleasing combination, standing on his toes with the back bent legs of a cat, and claws on his hands and toes. He rolls his shoulders, then settles himself as he looks down at the two other were-tigers, and after only a moment's study, the older man drops to his face and performs the formal bow and submission to Richard. Both men are facing the ground, on their knees, and Richard reaches down to take up his staff again, allowing them a moment to chant the ceremonial words as they bow.

"Rise, and look at me," Richard commands, his tone hard and speaking in growling Cantonese, and the two rise in practiced movements, their eyes looking at his chest and not his eyes.

"I apologize for having doubted the reports of my grand-nephew," the old man says, ducking his head. "I am Luang Xiang, and I humbly petition for admittance into your Clan."

"I assume Huang explained our procedures and requirements," Richard says simply, glancing at them and Adam, who stands to the back among the four guards that escorted them.

"He did, khan," Luang says with a bow. "Preparations are being made by the Family as we speak, to comply with the requirements. I have brought some leaders and persons of interests with me, now, to present to the Khan for inspection."

"Very well," Richard says after a pause. "Adam, I will shower and change, take them to the training grounds, and I will be there shortly. I will question and test them there."

Adam gestures the group to move down, and remains behind himself, gestured to stay by Richard. When the group is gone, he speaks in low tones unable to be heard by others.

"Four others, men in their thirties or forties, from the looks of it, and one female, mid-twenties," Adam says. "I've sent a message to Mischa, as Tasha is out of the Bastion at the moment for work."

"Good, I'll need an escort," Richard says with a frown. "I am familiar enough with historical Chinese court to know that it can be complicated, subtle and… byzantine."

"The Pack isn't exactly simple," Adam says with a snort of amusement.

Richard smiles, his large, feline maw revealing enormous teeth meant for rending and tearing, "Too true. I'm going to shift back to human inside and gear up. Brief the Xiangs on our expected code of conduct while you wait for female chaperones, and send me word in the house when you are ready."

"Yes, khan," Adam says with a nod, and starts walking down the steps, Richard simply jumping off the roof to land in a crouch behind his house before walking into it. His fur melts off as he walks, and in human form as he ascends the back stairs, their guests not far off, staring.

Richard blocks another attack from the Fox Family leader of the Xiang guests, his wooden short sword ringing loudly. He shifts and parries the next blow and the next, barely keeping up with the fast and trained reflexes and attacks of the were-fox. He defends for a long series of attacks, then shifts styles and kicks out the man's ankle on a long thrust. The man loses his balance for only a split second, spinning and attacking, but Richard has adjusted his own style. He is now too close for the intended strike, and drives his right elbow into the back of the man's right tricept, at a nerve line as the man attacks backhanded.

The wooden sword spins into the distance from loose fingers, and Richard taps the flat of his blade on the man's shoulder, then steps back. The man pauses from following out of instinct, his mind slow to process the lethal blow he had just taken. He straightens and bows in respect to Richard, the victor of the bout.

"Your technique is one I do not recognize, Khan," Luang says sagely with narrowed eyes, sitting cross legged at the edge of the sparring ring. "It is undeniably effective, however."

The old man had watched every fight, and his tone and use of Richard's informal title has become more formal with each bout, as each fighter is more skilled than the last. He had fought everyone except for the female and Luang, so far, and he tosses his wooden gladius to Adam on the side, where he catches it in mid-air.

"They are well trained, and their reflexes are quick," Richard says, walking over and sitting cross legged in front of Luang, using his Cantonese. "Were you their Sefu?"

"I was, in my prime," Luang says with a nod. "But I am too old to do so anymore. My son teaches now, and I watch, and guide."

"I recognize the scents of your people as Fox and Tiger," Richard says with a glance at the others. "Once you are settled in the rooms provided, I will ask that you shift into animal form for me, so that I can assess their sizes and colors."

"Most of my people are red foxes and red tigers, though I am golden tiger, and Huang is a blue tiger, and two others in the Family are white. And two of our foxes are silver," Luang says with a nod. "We are eager to finally have found a home, khan."

Richard has pieced together the meaning of the words, though Huang whispers in English after Luang has spoken, for his benefit and that of his guards.

"My head of security, Adam, will ask questions of you and your people, as will one of my mate's Lions, Mischa," he says, gesturing to Adam, and then Mischa.

"You are mated?" Luang says, eyebrow raised. "Is she tiger, as well?"

"She is a were-lion, Tasha Nash," Richard says with a smile and a nod. "We have been together for over a year, and will be married soon."

"I respectfully ask, Khan, is she worthy of you?" Luang says with a seated bow, lowering his head and eyes as he speaks slowly, his tone careful.

Richard's jaw jerks for a moment, then he responds with more calm than he really feels, "I ask often of myself if I am worthy of her. When you meet her, you will understand."

He rises fluidly to his feet as he says this last, his eyes passing over the group, "I have matters to attend to. Adam, Mischa, continue."

Richard turns and leaves the group of Chinese, who have all leaned forward and bowed deep to press their foreheads to the ground as he leaves. Mentally he shakes his head at the behavior.

Richard is sitting on the roof of the barn, in a lotus position and his eyes unfocused though he is aware of his surroundings. The movement below of his people training, of the Chinese applicant leaders sitting with others as they begin their process of joining the Clan and Pack. A scent reaches him, familiar and welcome, tinged with emotion, and he blinks his eyes, bringing them back into focus with the world. Tasha has reached the top steps and crosses the roof to the platform, a scowl of anger on her face.

"Did that old man insult me?" she growls low, pointing to the group below.

"He does not know you, and I told him when he does, he will agree that you are worthy of being the Alpha," Richard says as he rises to his feet.

Tasha takes a few long breaths, and as she does, the tech wave recedes and magic grasps the world again. Both her hair and Richard's grows another inch, his now past his ears to touch his shoulders, hers is looser in the ponytail she has it tied in.

"That one was only ten minutes," Richard says with a sigh. "Won't be long now."

"I'm angry about that," Tasha says after a breath, pointing at the group below, then closing her eyes and taking another breath. "But I've also gotten the report from Adam, before he got to you. We have intel on the purchase of the snake and ring."

Richard tilts his head back slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought, "Go."

"They covered their tracks well, and probably would have gotten away with it if we'd only used money or brute force to track them," Tasha says, sitting next to him, her face tight. "But you had that investigation firm working with Adam, and they dug in hard on the suppliers, found an angle for blackmail, and worked out a few more details to get a more reliable lead."

"I am surprised you're giving so much detail," Richard says when she pauses, and he tilts his head. "Now I'm concerned."

"Pack funds were used to buy the snake," she says with a frown. "They managed to get the actual money that exchanged hands, tracking the serial numbers, and the scents are unmistakable, and there's a problem."

"What?" he asks, worried as she is rubbing her head anxiously.

"Richette's prints are all over them," Tasha says with a sigh. "The Pack Lord's mate bought the snake that killed her."

"Fuck," Richard says, looking off into the distance as his mind assimilates the new information.

"This is a dead end," Tasha says as she leans forward and places her face in her hands for a moment. "What do we do now?"

"The real question is 'Why?'," he says absently, still talking low so only the two of them can hear. "Why did she buy it? Was it intended for someone else? Who? And why?"

"You don't think this is a set up on her?" she asks, surprised at his focus, lifting her head to look at him.

"The only person who could frame her, is Pelos," he says with a frown of thought. "So our suspect pool just dropped to two. Her, with the intention of suicide, of which there are easier methods, even for a shapeshifter. Him, lying to her as to the use of the snake. Or Pelos finding out she got it, her general intent on him or someone else, then taking it and using it on her first."

"That's… twisted," Tasha says with a deep frown, absorbing his statement. "How the hell do you come up with this shit?"

"Too much experience dealing with fucked up people," Richard sighs. "No matter what, my hand is forced now."

"What do you mean?" she asks, confused.

"I have to confront Pelos," he says with a sigh, running a hand through his thick hair. "To tell him that either his mate committed suicide, which he had no idea of, or at least didn't tell us about, or he killed her, and I suspect him of murder."

"That will not go well," Tasha says with a wrinkled brow, frowning. " _Really_ not well. Are you sure you want to tell him at all?"

"Not immediately, no," Richard says with a shake of his head. "But we need Noel here, now. We need a counsel with him and probably Jay and Jameson. The Domascas cannot be trusted."

"Love," Tasha says, reaching across and placing her hand on his hand, resting on his knee. "You're talking about a coup."

He takes her hand and smiles sadly, "Either his wife committed suicide rather than be with him and us, the Pack, or he killed her. Either way, he will not be quiet when confronted. I will not simply kill him without backup plans, or let myself be killed with no one to know what happened except you and Adam."

"You scare me sometimes," she says, leaning forward and placing her forehead on his shoulder. "I'm still trying to assimilate that he knew about the snake, not the actions after."

"We work together and complement each other," he says, reaching up and massaging the back of her head through her hair. "This is what I am."

"I know," Tasha says, turning her head to face him, kissing his chin gently. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responds, then kisses her tenderly in return.

Richard is sitting in the Bastion's recreation of the Globe Theatre, a set of chairs on the stage with him and the Alphas of Clans Heavy, Jackal and Bouda with him. They all sit in simple wooden folding chairs, rather than their usual throne-like seats from the Mansion. He, Tasha and Adam had just finished their summary of their findings, the entire theatre cleared save them, and his guards keeping everyone fifty yards from the structure to keep secrecy.

"You are sure?" Jay asks, his brow furrowed and lips pursed.

"As sure as I can be," Richard says with a shake of his head. "But there is more," he pauses, then gestures at Tasha. "Tell them of the looks."

"Pelos looks at me as a potential mate, and he has smelled of it as well," she says with a hard face. "I think he wants me to be his mate, a better mate than Richette."

"That's vain," Jameson says with a snort and a brief chuckle.

"I was there, a few times, and witnessed it," Noel says, glancing at Jay.

"I saw what could have been a lustful look, and a smell of pheromones that could have been him," Jay says with a look of distaste.

"You're serious," Jameson says, her face now showing disbelief.

"You wanted to be head of a Clan, this is what we deal with," Richard says with a hard stare at her. "The Pack Lord's wife and mate either committed suicide or was killed by Pelos. When I confront him with this, it will not go smoothly."

"He will not stand down," Jay says with a shake of his head, his tone matter-of-fact. "I watched him build this Pack from almost nothing. We had a small war with the Atlanta Pack a few years back. He won't give up or let himself be accused."

"But if he's guilty, he needs to be held accountable," Jameson says, her face now angry as she really accepts the facts before them. "Richette was my friend, and if she was killed—."

"We know that," Richard says in a hard tone, taking control of the conversation again. "Best case scenario, he steps down to let us continue the investigation. More likely, he lashes out or puts up a fight, and I'll have to take him, as the Pack's Lawkeeper."

"Take him?" Jameson says with a bark of laughter. "He's the Pack Lord for a reason, he's the most dangerous shapeshifter in Texas, likely the whole south, save Curran out of Atlanta, who only beat him because he had more backup."

"That's why I called you all," Richard says, looking around the gathered Alphas, Tasha at his side. "I don't know if I can take him or not, and if I can't, I need you all to know the truth."

"What the fuck are we supposed to do with that?" Jameson asks with a flash of red in her eyes angrily.

"We make plans to protect our people," Noel says, his landslide voice making her pause, Jay nodding in agreement. "If he did this, he is corrupt and will destroy us. A man who kills his wife and deceives his family, the Pack, this severely, cannot be left in charge of us. He will lead us to slaughter, or worse."

"What do you intend?" Jay asks.

"I will go to the Mansion in warrior form and armor," Richard says simply. "I would like to have an escort from all of you, to show that we are together in this. I will tell him, and we will go from there."

"If I may have a minute of the Khan's time, before we set out?" Noel says with his back ramrod straight, glancing at the others.

Tasha, Adam and the other Alphas nod at the rough request and leave the two men alone, exiting out of the front of the theatre. When they are alone, Noel speaks again, still stiff.

"I don't know what his animal is, and I have known him longer than any other," Noel says with a sigh.

"Is he a First?" Richard asks, his real concern.

"I don't think so," Noel says with a shake of his head. "Curran, of Atlanta, is and he did beat him squarely, no matter what Jameson thinks. The magic that rolls off of you smells similar to Curran's, I think you may be one as well, even though you were infected and not born this way."

"You know what the other possible outcome is," Richard says quietly, looking at him under lowered brows.

"Civil war, with us on one side, the wolves on the other," Noel says with a nod. "When it starts, the People will pile on, and kill us or them."

"The Vikings will stand with us," Richard says with a firm nod. "They have a pact with me, and will not betray it. I think the People will cut at us, as the stronger of the two sides, so that both sides take more casualties. We will win, or at least survive better than the wolves. But the cost will be horrible."

"It's not too late to cover it up," Noel suggests, eyebrow raised.

"Jameson can't keep her mouth shut," Richard says with a shake of his head. "We'd have to kill her to keep the secret, and I don't have the stomach to live the lie we'd be perpetuating. We bring it to light, and deal with what may come."

Richard walks down the road in warrior form, his armor with weapons on, spear in hand, a red silk streamer tied just below the long head. The other Alphas are with him, except the Domascas and the Rat Alphas, as well as over a dozen other shapeshifters, in either warrior form or human form. Among them is the delegation from the Xiangs, having seen Richard emerge from his house clad for battle and insisting to witness the Khan's confrontation. Richard didn't feel like arguing, and he understands they want to see what he is capable of.

He walks past the guards, wolves, who stare at him as he passes, and he walks up to the front door of the Mansion. As he approaches, the front door opens and Pelos walks out, six inch challenge knife in hand. The Wolf and Rat Alphas emerge from inside, following the Pack Lord, each carrying a blade of their own, though swords, and Pelos stops at the top of the stairs.

"I heard you were coming, Michaels," Pelos says in a hard tone. "You know the Law, if you challenge me, it is in human form, with only the knife. You break the Law when you assume a different form."

"I am not here to challenge for leadership of the Pack," Richard says, his voice deep and rolling in his animal form. "I know that the snake that killed your wife and mate was purchased with Pack money. I know that she handled the money extensively, and she purchased the snake."

Pelos simply stares at him, silver flashing over his eyes and remaining, the Alphas looking now at Pelos, with expressions of surprise and dawning understanding. After a few moments, they edge away from him, Pelos' form radiating anger and rage, though his posture has not moved or changed in the least. Richard stands tall, the others around him backing up and forming a circle around him as it becomes apparent that Pelos isn't backing down. Pelos' lip trembles in rage as he steps down slowly from the porch.

"Pelos, you stand accused of the murder of your wife, your mate, and the female Alpha of the Pack," Richard says formally. "Stand down and be taken into custody to allow the investigation to continue. If you are found innocent, you will be released, and if guilty, the Pack will judge you and render punishment."

"You walk into my Pack, and think you can just take over," Pelos growls, the arm holding the knife flexing and trembling. "You practically destroyed Clan Cat, and you rise up, with everything practically handed to you. And then Tasha," he says, his hand twitching in her direction. "I've been looking at her to take over the Pride for years so I could make the move to bring her as the Pack's dominant alpha female. But you had to show up."

"I worked hard for everything I have, I trained and sacrificed, and she is _my_ mate," Richard growls, his own eyes flashing orange, the magic wave rolling into them, stronger than ever before, the magic flare has arrived.

"I will tear your head off and eat your beating heart!" Pelos screams at him in fury.

"No one interferes!" Richard roars in response, his spear held to his side easily.

Pelos roars at him, but it morphs into a higher pitch, a scream now emerging from his mouth. His body shifts and changes, his sweats and shirt ripping from his new form. An eight foot monstrosity now stands in his place, knife dropped and forgotten. A hairy meld of man, bear and eagle stands in front of him, six inch narrow talons on his hands, a huge orange beak on a golden, feather covered head. Richard roars in response, his spear spinning as he crouches in preparation for the fight. Pelos charges, arms low and outspread as he moves at blinding speed, and Richard shifts to the side in response.

Pelos moves that way, undeterred, but it was a feint on Richard's part, his spear coming up and flashing across at Pelos. Pelos shifts from the blade, bringing his arm up to block on the shaft, not the blade. The force snaps the spear, but Richard shifts the attack into a lunge and shoves the jagged end of the shaft into Pelos' arm. Pelos ignores the wound, backhanding Richard in response, the were-tiger taking the knuckles on his maw, a tooth flying out and three long gashes now on his muzzle as he ducks under a follow through swipe. Richard leans back and dodges, the eagle/bear screeching at him as it continues to attack, and he's barely able to keep ahead of Pelos.

He pulls his gladius, flames dancing across the blade as he thinks the command word and he pushes his magic into the blade on reflex. The blade licks out and across Pelos' leg, then reversing and thrusting into the upper thigh. Pelos clamps his claws onto Richard's armored shoulder, then clamping down hard with his beak as he digs into the flesh between the armored plates. Richard releases his sword and grips onto the larger, heavier beast's blood covered beak. He picks up his feet as he supports himself on the Pack Lord's head, kicking his legs into the thick bodied creature's stomach and thighs, tearing long rents with the claws on his feet.

Pelos shakes his head as his beak penetrates deeper into Richard's armored right shoulder, claws clamped on the other shoulder and the other scrabbling across the armor on his ribs. Richard gives up trying to pry the rage fueled jaw off of him, pulling back his hand and shoving his stiffened fingers bearing inch long claws into Pelos' neck. He misses the windpipe, and the thick layer of stiff feathers, fur and muscle resists his claws, but he pulls back and strikes again and again as Pelos finds a target in Richard's hip. Pelos twists and jumps a few feet in the air, slamming Richard onto the ground as they land, tearing a roar of anger and pain from him.

Richard's claws have made it past the natural resistance on Pelos' neck, drawing blood from the cartaroid artery. Pelos rises up and releases Richard while tossing him away, throwing him over ten yards away. Richard rolls and rises quickly as Pelos screeches at him, throwing his arms down to his sides, which elongate and shift into full sized wings that sport eagle like feathers and two fingers with claws on them. Richard pulls another knife from the small of his back, a wide double bladed four inch blade, as Pelos leaps at him, shifting his taloned feet forward.

With his arms pumping, his leap is lightning fast and he clamps his huge foot talons onto Richard's right arm and left shoulder, the thicker nails digging through the plates to the flesh beneath. Richard's knife is out of play in the caught arm, falling to the ground, and his other hand grabs the calf of the leg on the shoulder as Pelos pushes from the ground and beats his giant wings against the air, rising slowly to the sky. Richard roars as he gouges into Pelos' leg, desperate to be free of the other shapeshifter's grip before they get too high for him to survive the fall. Richard's claws sever the hamstring of the leg holding his shoulder, then reaches across and digs into the back of Pelos' other knee. Pelos screeches into the night sky as he releases Richard, who twists in the air as he falls, landing in a crouch twenty yards below.

Before he can recover and adjust, Richard is struck on his back, Pelos having changed his arms back into clawed hands and landing hard on bleeding legs. Richard is crushed under the heavy falling weight, Pelos falling from his feet onto him as his legs are unable to keep his weight. Pelos' beak bites down viciously on the right of his neck, drawing blood quickly, but not fatally, as the heavy layers of silk protect him. Richard shifts to the side and shoves his hand back in a stiff blade, shoving his claws into the existing cut, penetrating deep, blood spraying out in an arc from a fatal wound, even for a shapeshifter.

Richard shifts and moves under the dying Pack Lord as he continues to thrash, his beak still locked on his neck and talons scratching over his armor. After a long thirty seconds of slowed movement and bleeding, Pelos stills, and Richard rolls the huge creature off of him, though the beak remains locked in place. The body shifts and melts into a human, and that allows the jaws to unlock and release his neck. Richard rolls slowly to his feet, painfully aware that he barely won the contest and mentally taking stock of his wounds.

Deep cuts mark his right hip, his shoulder gouged and bleeding deeply from the beak, his arm and other shoulder with deep punctures from being clenched in the huge talons. His face is dripping blood from the missing tooth and cuts across his muzzle and nose, and he felt multiple ribs crack when Pelos had landed on him. He stands straight despite his injuries, looks around the gathered Pack members, his glare exuding authority, then roars bloodily into the night as they all lower themselves to a kneeling position and averting their gaze.

He lowers his enormous, toothy maw from the moon and night sky, looking around at the group and his eyes settling on the only person not kneeling, Tasha. She walks across to him slowly, and he reaches down, pulls the ties on his chest armor, releasing the armor on his chest, then shifting into human form. His clothes fall off of his smaller frame, blood oozing from his wounds and across his face. She reaches him and he kisses her deeply, and she doesn't hesitate, despite the blood covering him. He pulls her to him and growls low as they break apart, his blood on her lips and face now, and her eyes captivating him, riveting him into place.

"I love you," he says in a rasp, feeling weak from the blood loss and the adrenaline from the fight wearing off.

"Let's go clean up inside," she says, running her hand over his rough, scuffed up jaw. "We'll use the security barracks, and take the bunks for ourselves."

"No," he says with a near snarl. "He killed his mate, I can't stay here, in what was his home. We go to our home," he says solidly, "We go to the Bastion, and we rebuild."

He takes a few deep breaths, and she nods silently, then he looks around at the assembled shapeshifters still looking at the ground, "I AM KHAN! The Alphas will come to my house, and we will discuss the future."

He looks at Noel and the others, who are all gathered together, and they nod in understanding. Richard walks away, hiding his limp, and struggling to breathe through his fractured ribs.

"Bring me a Humvee," he says low to Alex as he walks by him, who nods and walks off as everyone starts to rise.

Richard is sitting on the roof of his barn, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and looking out over the assembled crowd of shapeshifters below him as the Pack assembles. He had walked a mile with Tasha and a few others when the Humvee driven by Alex had caught up and brought him the rest of the way home. He had kept up a good pace and shown no weakness, though once in the truck Tasha had started wiping down and fussing over his bleeding wounds while he'd passed out for the ride to the Bastion. When they'd arrived, he'd showered inside and eaten three foot long subs heavy with meat before the rest of the Council of Alphas had assembled, and he now meets them on the barn.

"I did not intend to challenge him," he says to the assembled couples. "Evidence proved either she killed herself or he killed her. I knew a confrontation was inevitable, and it was a higher likelihood he did it due to his interest in Tasha."

"Why was I not brought into your 'secret council'?" Mr. Domasca says with his fingers making quote symbols and a snarl.

"You are short tempered, easily insulted, and have an inferiority complex you displace onto others," Richard says flatly, looking at him with a blank expression. "Your wife's ability to keep you calm is the only reason you haven't leaped too far ahead of your abilities and gotten yourself killed."

Domasca's jaw twitches in anger, and his eyes flash blue for a moment, and it takes Mrs. Domasca's hand on his to calm him down.

"I apologize to the Pack Lord," he says slowly, forcing the words out, derision dripping from the last words.

"You will call him Khan," Tasha says with a heavy frown and a flash of gold over her eyes.

"And if you speak to him in that tone again, I will beat you to within an inch of death so that you will heal and I can beat you again," Noel adds, his growl heavier than ever.

Richard continues as though no one had spoken, "I did not want to kill him, but he forced my hand. You all witnessed his actions and our fight. Who has questions or issues?"

Mischa is on the peak of the barn roof, ten yards away as she transcribes the dialogue in shorthand, working during the day as a para-legal recording court proceedings.

"Well, um, I have a few questions, I guess," the new Alpha of the newly formed Clan Rat. "Does this change us, how we work? Are we still a council? Or are you the king, like Atlanta?"

"I'm not changing anything," Richard says simply, looking around with an attempt to soothe the other leaders. "I am just assuming a position, leader of the Pack. The laws and the code we live by do not change. Over time, perhaps, but not now. Our base and center is now the Bastion, though the Mansion will remain the administrative location and event center. I would like to select someone for the Executioner position, which would be the Pack's Security head. Currently, I am considering Adam for that position, though I will take other applicants. Also, I'll be interviewing all the leaders and the heads of the different branches in the Pack, logistics, supply, communication, intelligence, general operations and budgeting."

"Are you questioning the competence of the Pack?" Mr. Jay asks, frowning as he understands the scope of information Richard is asking for.

"Yes, I am," he replies calmly, raising a damp cloth to his neck, wiping the blood from his slowly closing wound. "You operated okay before, but we need to do better. There is a war coming, and we must be ready to win it."

"With the Atlanta Pack and Curran?" Ms. Jameson asks, nodding.

"No," Richard says, twisting the cloth and the bloody water falling into a bowl in front of him, dipping the washcloth in a different bowl of warm water. "We are at the beginning of a new age. The shift came, bringing magic and drowning out technology. Magic will win, then rule the world for centuries, or longer, long after our children's, children's, children are dead, buried and dust in the wind."

"We must ensure that this time around, shapeshifters are not second class citizens and considered monsters by history, like the last time," Tasha says, looking around at the group, her brown leather vest over a normal white cotton t-shirt and jeans.

"We establish our dominance and build our own nation, kingdom, empire, whatever you want to call it," Richard says, raising the cloth and wiping his face and the weeping black wounds across his face and nose. "We get ourselves together, and we become the dominating presence in Houston. This was the fifth largest city in the United States prior to the shift, and the eighth largest now. We push or ally with the other factions, and lead the council of power players here in Houston."

"I have connections with the local Covens," Mrs. Domasca says with a nod, looking at the group then Richard. "They were put off by Pelos, he never worked well with them. And I can see that you will work with them better. With them, and the warlocks, who will follow their lead, we will have the minority magic users with us, plus the Nation and the Vikings, whom you've already won over. We are very likely to be the leaders."

Mr. Domasca and Jay nod slowly at her assessment, and the Wolf Alpha loses his angry posture a little, understanding now that the Pack will be stronger than before. Richard watches as Noel remains stony and unexpressive, already won over, and Jameson's is covered with heavy thought as she catches up to the others. He glances at Tasha, who reaches her hand out and rests it on his knee with a small smile, and he smiles back, the magic heavy in his system and the cuts on his body nearly closed, his cracked ribs already set and feeling better, having started remodeling and healing.

"I miss my chair," Noel says unexpectedly, sitting cross legged like Richard, but stiff in the pose.

Richard chuckles, "We'll figure it out. I know that my way is not comfortable for all, but I never liked the look of the thrones. Too king-like, like we're better than others. Ridiculous in closed councils. I'd prefer a round table, like Arthur's knights, from the old stories."

"Knights of the Round Table?" Jay asks with a chuckle.

"We'll make it our own," he replies with a shrug. "Legends and stories must be fed, and reinforced from history."

"You know that I am Muslim, I do not believe the way that you do?" Jay says with a slow smile.

"I don't care," Richard replies with a smirk. "I only care that we are brothers, bearing the fight for the future of our children together."

"That is a good line, but I wonder at your commitment," Domasca says, his face resuming an angry frown.

"He is committed," Tasha says with a frown in return. "We will be married by the end of the month, and I carry his child."

There is silence at the announcement, the other Alphas having recognized the change of her scent and wondering, but Richard not familiar enough with his enhanced senses to recognize the change.

"You are pregnant," he says, less a question than a statement.

"Yes," she replies as she takes his reaching hand, his gaze looking at the distance. "I just found out yesterday. When the tech comes back, I'll get an ultrasound and test the fluid to find the gender."

Richard takes a deep breath and looks around at the assembled Alphas, his eyes flashing orange, "We will get married soon, I expect attendance by all the Alphas and most of the Pack. That is our immediate focus. I will meet with all the Alphas tomorrow, separately, at Hoffman's. Make appointments with Alex and Adam. That's all for tonight."

"Congratulations," Mrs. Domasca says to Tasha quietly with a short embrace and a small smile as she gets up to leave, her husband following her with a look of concentration on his face.

Richard is on his feet and bids farewell to all the other Alphas, and when they are gone, he stares into the distance before looking at Tasha again, his mind clouded with deep thoughts.

"You're pregnant," he says softly, moving to her, and his hands gently encircling her.

"Two weeks," she says with a smile, reaching up and running her hands tenderly through his longer hair. "Mischa noticed a change in my scent, and I took a test. I want to wait until a month after the flare is over, so I can safely do the scans and tests."

"I'm going to be a father," he says slowly, reaching to her face and cupping her head in his hands tenderly as his thoughts race. "I have tried to be a good man, and now, I will have a child… I will be a father."

"You will be a good father," she whispers with a smile, kissing him gently on the jaw.

"My father was a monster," he says with a tired sigh. "I hated him. I watched movies and read stories, about what a dad should be like. He was never there."

"I'm sorry," she says, nuzzling his neck, sensing a dark mood approaching.

"He worked too much, then drank to oblivion, an engineer before the fall, unable to see the changes in the world," he says in a softening voice. "Mom tried, but he beat her at least once a week, us kids as often. I joined the army to get away from that environment, that world, and to find a real mentor and become a man."

"I didn't know you had siblings," Tasha says quietly from his shoulder, afraid to destroy the moment.

"Two older sisters, two younger brothers," he says shortly, his mind buried in horrible memories. "I got old enough and killed my father when I was fifteen. Made it look like a mugging, dropped him in a dirty alley where he frequented a hooker that gave him a blow for twenty bucks. I shoved a screwdriver in his kidney, stolen from school because we were so poor, and watched him bleed out in the alley."

Tasha watches his face from inches away, the memory of his father and his death etched on his face and eyes as he looks into the distance, reliving the moment.

"Regrets?" she asks softly, knowing the answer.

"I wish I had done it sooner," he says in a hard, quiet tone, both of them seated cross legged now on the platform watching the last of the Pack assemble to hear the speech from their new leader. "He was a fucked up, dirty, abusing, shallow bastard that put us through so much for no fucking reason," he says, anger entering his voice for a change. "The only consolation I have is that he now understands, in death, that he was a fucking asshole in life, and must pay repentance before reaching Valhalla or whatever heaven he believes in."

"You really believe that?" she asks, her gaze locked on his eyes which are staring out a thousand meters beyond them.

"Without a doubt," he says, still looking at Orion's belt in the sky. "God is real, he watches and judges us. Roland and all the other old souls from the last wave, they are reminders of our failures, our weaknesses, the vices of human nature, what becomes of us if we stray too far."

"That sounds _really_ bible," Tasha says with a smile and a laugh. "Is that Psalms, Genesis, Revelation?"

"Those are the only books you know from the bible," he responds with a smile and laugh, pulling her close and kissing her head. "It's not. Preachers of every denomination would burn me at the stake for talk like that, and the Rabbis would make it a slow death."

"The Rabbis love you," she says with a twist of her lips, "And it annoys the crap out of the Domascas."

"They have more written history than any other group in the country," he says with a smile. "And have nearly unbreachable churches, I'm sorry, Temples, on the border of every magic zone in the north American Continent. They know shit and it reinforces my beliefs."

"You are crude, rough and violent, while maintaining your civility and education," Tasha says as she inhales deeply on his arm through her nose, reveling in his scent. "I want to rip your clothes off violently and make hot animal love right here, right now."

He chuckles throatily, "I _really_ want that, but I have to talk intelligently to the Pack about the change of leadership."

"I know," she says, rubbing her nose on his cheek slowly. "Please don't take too long, and come to bed after. I have an itch I need to scratch and only you or Mischa knows how to scratch it."

He watches her as she rises with a smirk on her face, his mind catching up to the comment on a female lover, and the implications. After a pair of breaths he stands up, looking out at most of the Pack, 70-80% of the Pack in attendance, and his eyes slowly look over the group as he sets his feet in his sweatpants and bare chest, blood wet on his body from the fight still.

"I AM KHAN!" he roars immediately, then pauses and waits for the silence to draw peoples' eyes to him. After a few long moments, half the folks in the crowd glance at him furtively, unsure.

"I did not ask for the burden of command, of leadership," he says, speaking loud and hard for all of the gathered Pack. "I have built from scratch the Cat Clan, and worked hard to build up the security of the Pack as best I could from my position. Now, things will change, things will get harder, but it will be the difficulty of conquering challenges, becoming better than we ever thought. We are the future. We will be the next page, the next chapter of history, we must only convince the rest of the people of the truth!"

The assembled shapeshifters below him, nearly nine hundred people, shout and scream at his statement, and the sound rolls over him, his arm raised in victory as they look to him for leadership and guidance. Part of him feels bad at the loss of life, but he checks himself and pushes that thought away, forcing himself not to dwell. He is now the leader of the Houston Pack, and he has nearly a thousand people looking to him for leadership and a steady hand. He nods to no one in particular and strides confidently down the beams on the barn wall, following where Tasha had gone into the house.

Richard sits in his office in Hoffman Resources, looking at the quarterly report for all the vehicle dealerships in town that he manages. His eyes move up as he hears and catches the scent of Adam coming up the stairs. He continues to read, but puts the report down as Adam walks in with a bag over his shoulder and closes the door behind him.

"We got problems, boss," Adam says with a frown.

"Bottom line it," Richard says, all business in his leather pants and vest over his shirt, wanting the protection as the Magic Flare is still active.

"Pelos' body is missing," he says simply, pulling a leather bound journal from the bag and handing it to Richard. "And he kept a journal, we found it in his rooms when we searched it like you ordered."

Richard leafs through it, "Who has read it?"

"Me and Mischa, but only skimming, and there's more," he says with a heavy frown. "He wasn't a bear or eagle, he was a Chimera-were."

Richard looks up at Adam, the last statement sinking in, "Not a were-chimera?"

"No," Adam says with a definite shake of his head. "The m-scan came back, and he definitely started as a Chimera, then got LycV and shifted to human."

"Keep looking for more records," Richard says, his face unperturbed as he opens the book up towards the end and scans the contents. "And initiate the lockdown for the entire Pack, they all go to either the Bastion, Mansion or the Castle. Everyone. Let's try to set a record."

"You think someone took his body?" Adam asks, his face puzzled.

"Yes," Richard says with a sigh. "He was dead, and there a few things you can do with a dead body, more if it's during a flare. I need to speak with Mrs. Domasca."

"She's downstairs with her husband, early for their meeting," Adam says, pointing his hand over his shoulder.

"Send them up," Richard says, leaning back in his chair and continuing to scan the journal of the former Pack Lord.

A few moments later, he absently waves the Wolf Alphas into the chairs across from him as he continues to skim the book.

"This is Pelos' journal, and in it he describes how he found out that Richette had purchased the snake, with the intention of killing him," he says, closing it and setting it on the table. "It's written in old Latin, and I'm a bit rusty on it, but I think I got the gist. He stole it from her and used it on her. Also, Pelos was a Chimera-were, and his body is missing."

The two leaders of the Wolf Clan blink at the bald statement at the end, and Mrs. Domasca's eyes narrow in thought before she speaks.

"With a magic flare up, someone could use his body as a vessel for something," she says slowly, thinking. "He was powerful in life, and his body could give great power to a spirit, creature or a consciousness."

"Who could do it?" Richard asks, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded in his lap.

"Any number of magic users," she replies, blinking.

"How many that could either wisk it out of the Mansion or has enough pull to maybe get one of our own to turn on us and help them?" he asks, mentally making a list as he asks the question.

"The Rabbis, the Vohls, and the Mage Academy," she says, echoing his own list. "Rabbis have no motives, though, and the Mages could have done it, but a low likelihood."

"And the Vohls are by nature dark and evil," Mr. Domasca says as he makes a face as though biting a lemon.

"That is what I thought as well," Richard says with a nod, looking to the window in thought for a moment. "Mrs. Domasca, you know them better than I do, and I know they are family, but I need an honest assessment. Has the balance of power between the white and black of the witches and vohls shifted?"

She frowns hard, looking down before speaking, obviously anxious, "My family never liked my choice of a husband, but they supported me. My parents were both weak magic users, and were ecstatic when I showed great promise, but disappointed that I would not stay deep in the folds of the Coven."

She pauses, and Richard waits, feeling that more is forthcoming, and she continues after a moment of internal debate.

"The Black Vohls, who worship Chernobog, have been steadily gaining favor and power the last two years," she says. "My brother is a white vohl, and has been asking, discreetly, for the other magic users in town to keep their eyes open, as he fears the black vohls would soon make a play to gain supremacy in the city."

"Another indicator, then," Richard says calmly, tapping the desktop, then nodding sharply as he makes a decision. "We can fight, but our magic is weak in comparison to the other factions in town. I can get some help from the Vikings, but it will not be much, I think. Can you reach out to the Coven and White Vohls, and ask for assistance?"

"They would argue this is their problem and they don't want outsiders involved," she says with a twist of her head.

"I would counter that the Black Vohls stole the cadaver of Pelos from Pack property, which makes it our problem as well," Richard replies with a tight smile.

"I will handle them," she replies firmly, turning slightly to her husband. "I will take Davey with me, for protection. Gather our wolves and help the Khan."

Her use of his title surprises Richard, but he keeps it to himself as he addresses her again, "We're on short time, I think. How long to prep the body?"

"They wouldn't waste a strong vessel like him on a minor being, and to prepare a cadaver is time consuming, much more so than a live body," she says in thought.

"Timeline," Richard says, putting some authority in his voice.

"Twelve hours from the time the body was taken, give or take," she says as she focuses her eyes on him again.

"We're in lockdown for the rest of the Flare," he says simply. "We need to make a list of suspects among the Vohls and locations, then I'll take a dozen of our people to go find them and stop them."

"You make it sound simple," Mr. Domasca says with a frown, then sighs slightly. "I am actually curious how you manage that regularly."

"I glaze over the implied tasks and only highlight the important specified tasks," he replies, using a quote one of his former commanders used to use. "And after what I've been through, dealing with black Vohls doesn't bother me. That's kind of fucked up, when I say it out loud."

"Will you allow us to send some of our people with you?" Mrs. Domasca asks.

"Two fighters, from each Clan, and myself," Richard says with a nod. "I'll have word put out to meet at the Bastion and once assembled we'll go to the Vohls to stop their madness."

"We will bring our wolves, all of them, to the Bastion," Domasca says, his face grim.

"We all have a lot of work to do and very little time to do it, so let's get moving," Richard says as he rises, and strides out of the office, then begins shouting firm, unhurried orders out in a tone to be heard by every shapeshifter in the building.

The response is not chaos or panic, but a flurry of hurried movements and work. He walks through the building and calmly watches as his people go about their tasks, and pauses at those who seem flustered or over-stressed. He speaks calmly and surely to those, and they resume in a more secure and relaxed manner, him reassuring them and giving them the confidence they need.

"I would have liked to be involved in that discussion," Tasha says as she hands him a piece of his armor as he gears up in human form.

"There was no time, _is_ no time," he says with a frown, fixing the breastplate into position and tying the twine on the sides. "Legendary things are capable with magic during flares. If they are able to put something into Pelos' body, regardless of what it is, it will be more powerful than he was, and I was barely able to take him down last time."

"You had to fight melee against him, with no help," she says with a shake of her head. "Now you have the opportunity to fight in any manner you prefer, with backup, both from us and others. It will be different this time."

Richard smiles as he straps his quiver and gladius to his back, "Do you think I'm worried?"

"You are too smart not to be," Tasha says with a sigh and a small smile of her own. "You just play the part of confident, unperturbed commander very well. I know you better."

" 'Never let them see you sweat' is one of the mantras my first Squad Leader told me," he says with a smirk, accepting his combat belt from her, a thick, wide leather with a number of knives on it. "Confidence is infectious and will make everyone perform better. It is a code I have lived by for years and has always served me well."

"I wish I could go with you," she says with a hard frown, handing him her own sabre, the enchanted blade glowing fiercely with the flare up.

"Thank you for not fighting me on it," he says with a smile, securing the scabbard and blade on his left hip, his right bearing a tactical tomahawk. "It would bother me to have to tie you up in a Loup cage."

"I know you're not joking, which kind of pisses me off," she replies as she frowns at him, then studies his appearance.

When he was in the army, he wore loricated plate armor, the same the legionnaires had worn for centuries during the Roman Empire. Since becoming a shapeshifter, he realized the armor no longer fit his new abilities, not allowing him full range of motion, and hard to shed should he need to change form. He had researched and studied, and had decided to adopt Chinese and Japanese styles of armor, as they allowed him mobility and protection, in equal measures. So now he stands in what is, for all intents and purposes, Samurai armor, with plates on his chest, arms, and legs, though without the undergarments historically used. He would feel better wearing the layers of silk, as they are armor as well, and served him well in his battle against Pelos last time. The silk will not rip, however, when he shifts forms, and would hurt him and hinder him if he needs to shift.

"You look good," Tasha says after a moment, a crooked smile on her lips. "I wish the red were brighter, though."

He smirks and pats the dark red and dull gray plates and cloth under it, "Dark red and grey will hide me better, should I need stealth. I don't want to be a target."

"The others should be ready," she says with a sigh, turning to where she can hear the trumpet at the front gate announcing that the assembly has completed.

He steps into her and embraces her tenderly, and they run the tips of their noses over each others' cheeks, inhaling the scent of their mate. No words are spoken, and they kiss softly as their lips meet, then they pull apart, their eyes locking.

"I hope to be back before the Flare is over," he says quietly, captivated by her eyes, as always. "I love you."

"Mate," she growls softly, nipping on his lower lip. "Go fuck up those Vohls, show them what happens when the Khan decides to go to war."

Richard smiles and replies, "A repeat of history, if I'm not mistaken."

He lets go and leaves the arms room of his house, and though there is no hesitation in his movements, Tasha is not offended or put off. She understands, as she must shortly manage and lead the remains of the Pack while he is gone. Her mind pauses at that, and wonders if they should alter the name of the Pack, as Ice Fury in Alaska and the Packs in other continents have. Richard's mind is elsewhere, the strategic and tactical part of his mind in the front as he walks onto his porch and down his steps with his bow in hand, black silk scarf tied on his head to keep his hair in check, now nearly a foot long in a loose horse tail.

He slows his walk as he studies the assembled group before him, five Humvees with hybrid magic/tech engines revving in front of the Bastion, waiting to take them to their destination. He has the best fighters from the Pack in the group, Noel, Domasca, Jay and Jameson among them. Five Neo-Vikings are to the side, the two Ragnarsons who had journeyed and fought with him before, their shaman, and two others, the best fighters among the Vikings excepting Rangar himself, their leader. The witches and vohls will meet them on the way, and Richard nods at the way his people are outfitted in armor similar to his, all with bows and weapons on them. Two years ago they would have left in sweatpants or naked in warrior form from the start, but Richard's training has paid off, and they understand that they have more capabilities if they pace themselves.

"The body of Pelos is stolen," Richard says simply, looking at the assembled band of warriors. "I believe the vohls intend to bring their god, Chernobog, a Slavic god of death and evil, to life during the flare and to give him Pelos as a vessel, so he will survive after the magic recedes. We must stop him, or all that we have worked and fought for will be for nothing. We must stop the ritual, at all costs. If they succeed, I don't think any power in all of Texas can stop him."

He pauses as he looks around, his alpha stare in place and he senses every single one of those selected rising in response, not afraid or hesitant, and he cracks an easy smile, breaking the tension.

"So, no pressure or anything," he says with an off handed wave, and walking relaxed to the Humvees. "We got this."

The assembled band of warriors, his soldiers, chuckle darkly in response as they follow their Khan to the vehicles.

"Well, this could be problematic," Richard says simply, bow in hand as he looks at the dome surrounding Hermann Park in southcentral Houston.

"It is a very strong ward," Mrs. Domasca says from beside him, the spokesman of the thirteen witches and five white vohls that met them at the rally point a few hundred yards from the border. "Hermann Park has always been their haven, and it looks like they have worked long and hard to prepare the ward. It is a blood ward of their entire family. We cannot break it in time."

Richard stares at the gray green sheen of the ward in front of him, only twenty yards away, "How long would it take you?"

"With the entire Coven, and the White Vohls to help, three hours or so, if it is possible," she says with a frown, clenching her jaw in anger. "It may not be breachable. Our blood is not as strong as it once was."

"I am not a magic expert," he says with a thoughtful frown. "I know that chanting and spells can break a ward, but I've seen a man shove his bloody hand into a ward and break it instantly before. What does that mean?"

"He made a direct attack on the ward, rather than working it slowly down," she explains. "It is painful, extremely painful, and drains the one who attacks, because it is essentially a direct challenge of the person or people who erected the ward. If successful, both parties are drained and put through tremendous pain and torment during the challenge and after. It can cause unconsciousness or death to both the loser and the victor."

"The Flare will only last another hour or so," Richard says with a frown, having looked at her during the explanation and now turning to the ward. "They are likely preparing for the ceremony, if they haven't already started."

He steps towards the ward, pulling his gloves from his hands and tucking them in his belt.

"What are you doing?" she asks, stepping after him as the gathered shapeshifters, Vikings and magic users all turn their attention to him and he moves away from the group who is battle ready but stalled by the obstacle.

"I am going to break the ward," he says, pulling the gladius from his back and cutting his palm and coating the blade with his blood. "When it is down, assault through and find the ritual, stop it. I will catch up when I can. Mr. Domasca, remain with me to watch my back, should I lose consciousness."

"She said it can't be broken," the leader of the White Vohls and Mrs. Domasca's brother says with a furrowed brow of confusion, his white robes billowing around him and his white staff in hand. He looks to Richard as Gandalf would have looked in his late thirties with a trimmed beard.

"I know what she said," Richard says and pauses before the ward, taking a steadying breath. "But it must be done, or we are all doomed."

"Just because you were a Ranger doesn't mean you can do this," he says with a touch of disdain in his voice.

"That's not why I can do this," he says, not looking back and setting his feet as he begins to slowly push the blade, his magic focused and concentrated in it, bloody palm flat against the blade. "It is because I am a First," he says with conviction.

The tip of the blade touches the ward at the last word, and Richard nearly screams as invisible fire and ice covers him from head to toe, his entire being in pain. His vision fades and wobbles, but he grits his teeth and holds his stance, pushing against the resistance of the ward. The blade sinks in, slowly, and the pain builds and rises within him as he pushes, pounding in his head and his chest. He feels a wetness on his neck, cheeks and lips, and through the pain he acknowledges that he is bleeding from his eyes, ears and nose. He grunts as a surge of power pushes back at him, bringing with it more pain, indescribable and inconceivable, a part of his mind astonished that any being could feel this much pain and endure.

He pushes back at the power with his own, pulling on unknown reserves within himself to do so. His conscious mind knows that if he doesn't win this, he will die, and that even in winning he may not survive this. Despite that, his natural reaction is to fight, to win, to never give up, and he grunts then roars as he shoves the blade through the last of the resistance. The world dims and he staggers to the side, falling to his knees in the early twilight, gasping hard at the exertion he had just endured.

"Go," he gasps, knowing he sounds weak, but unable to do anything about it as blood drips from his chin to the ground. "Find them and kill them."

He notes figures passing him, but he is too concerned with his next breath and the thundering beat of his heart that radiates through his being. His sword is buried point down in the ground in front of him and he grips it with white knuckles as he slowly regains his composure, still on both knees. Some time later, he is unable to know how long, his vision starts to slowly return to normal, and the beating of his heart is heard only in his ears. Not long after, he is able to unclench his muscles and in small degrees he starts to relax, and he nearly slumps on the hilt of his sword as a wave of exhaustion rolls over him.

He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath, then slowly, shakily rises to his feet, leaving the sword in the ground in front of him. He feels like shit, his entire body, his whole being, exhausted and sore, thoroughly drained. He looks to his right, where Domasca stands with his own bow in hand, scanning the night with his back to Richard.

"How long was I out of it?" Richard pants, reaching down slowly to pull his sword from the soil, the short sword feeling like it weights a thousand pounds.

"Twenty minutes," he responds with a glance back at him, and ducking his head in true respect. "I am amazed you didn't die. The breaking of the ward literally knocked everyone off of their feet, even Noel. I looked up and saw you on your knees, and then whispering to go. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed it."

"I feel like hammered dog shit," Richard says with a deep breath, wiping the blood from his face with a rag from his belt, all subtlety gone. "Do you know what is happening in the front? My senses aren't back up to speed, yet."

"I heard some explosions about ten minutes ago, they've started to fight someone, Khan," he says, and the title is no longer an honorific, but has deference held in it.

"Let's go help, if we can," Richard says simply, sheathing his sword and taking his bow from Domasca, who had slung it over his shoulder as he waited.

"You are not ready to fight, yet, Michaels," he replies, averting his eyes as he says it. "Give it a few minutes, you nearly died."

"I didn't," Richard replies with a growl, his eyes flashing. "And if we don't help, they may not succeed. Our people need us, and they needed us ten minutes ago."

With that he turns and begins trotting towards where he can now see flashes of light in the distance, obviously a battle. His stride starts as a weak shuffle, but within a minute it is a full out run, his mind overriding his body's demands that he slow down and can't do this. He learned long ago, even before he was a Ranger, that the body will quit if the mind doesn't push it, and it is capable of much more than it believes.

Richard slows to a walk and stops as he surveys the battlefield before him. It is an open area in the park, a flat, grass covered plain the size of three football fields. Scattered across it for nearly two hundred yards in front of him are his people locked in battle with the Black Vohls. He can see three large snakes slithering around and snapping at his people, the shapeshifters grabbing their attention and fighting them as the magic users throw up defensive spells to protect themselves and hurl their own magic at those who summoned the creatures. He quirks an eyebrow as a giant ant, easily fifteen feet long and bigger than an elephant, ridden by an old man in a black robe, crawls quickly after Jameson in her hybrid warrior form, cackling in the night, Noel's warrior form latched on its side.

"Help Jameson, that's their leader," Richard says, pointing at the gray bearded man with a staff that has a living snake head made of wood on its top.

"Where are you going?" Domasca asks, drawing back on his bowstring and loosing an exploding arrowhead at the ant.

"To those rocks," he says, pointing at the glowing figures on the other side of the Black Vohls. "That has to be the ceremony, and it needs to be stopped. If anyone can get free, send them."

He starts running through the maelstrom of the battle, dodging, rolling and jumping to avoid attacks as the enemy tries to stop his progress. He occasionally fires an arrow at a target of opportunity, but in the main he simply moves and makes his zigzag way across the battle, his focus and mission the ceremony, not fighting. He has leaped over the last snake, which had attempted to bite him but missed, with Adam now latched onto the neck just below the jaw in his warrior form, claws and teeth tearing, and he lands just in front of three vohls. He notices the sheen of wards in bubbles around them, and he simply leaps between and past them, landing on open grass then sprinting as fast as his abused body will let him to the granite rocks surrounding seven Black Vohls in a circle.

The stones are waist high and roughly circular in appearance, though thick at about two feet across and heavy. The stones form a circle twenty yards across, and within it the vohls form their own circle ten yards across, with the dead body of Pelos in the center. Complicated glyphs and runes cover his naked body, painted black, and glowing symbols cover the ground between the body and the vohls. Richard draws and fires rapidly at the vohls, but his arrows explode prematurely, a small ward of protection surrounding them. He growls in anger and pulls his dagger as he reaches the stones and the last ward between him and his enemy.

He shoves his bloody hand into the ward with a roar, pain engulfing him, and he hears a scream behind him as the old Vohl who had placed the blood ward up is hit with his power. Richard stumbles forward as the ward breaks, weak and blinking against the blackness and fighting to stay conscious. He pulls his bow from his shoulder, and while stumbling drunkenly to the side, he draws and fires his last arrows, striking three vohls with seven shots, his aim suffering from his weakness and exhaustion. He drops the bow as his quiver is empty and pulls and throws his tomahawk, then his knives and daggers as he stumbles forward at the vohls, who have stopped chanting and are facing him now.

Two more drop from the attacks, and the last two shove their staves at him, black tendrils whipping out from both to encircle him. He has pulled the sabre out, and cuts around himself in a practiced defensive pattern used against multiple opponents and projectiles. The enchanted blade cuts at the tendrils, and keeps them at bay, despite his slowed reflexes, his body falling into the familiar movements, and he continues to advance. He reaches one of the vohls and attacks, chopping off the hand that holds the staff then beheading him in a spray of blood.

His dropped defenses allows the black tendrils of the other to grip his ankle, however, and he is flung into the air, then slammed down into the ground. He keeps his grip on the sword until he is flung sideways into one of the granite columns, which explodes in a puff of dust and debris. The tendril pulls him high again, and the moment of painful movement with no blows allows him to draw the gladius from his back and he cuts down in a flash of fire, severing the tendril. He continues to arc up, his vision too blurry and clouded to make out anything as he instinctively tries to right himself.

He lands in an awkward heap with his right leg under him which breaks painfully at the knee, and he buries the scream of pain. He lies for half a breath then lifts his head and looks around, his flaming sword still in hand. The last Black Vohl is only a dozen feet away, the black tendrils circling around him menacingly as he slowly advances with an angry expression.

"You are too late, _mongrel_ ," the man says, a tendril whipping out and piercing Richard's shoulder to the ground like a spear. "We are nearly complete, I can finish the incantations alone, and our god will walk the earth again."

Richard has shifted the sword painfully to his left hand as he looks up at the man and at his surroundings, then tosses the sword at the man. The weak and awkwardly driven sword is knocked from the air with a look of derision by the man. His focus is on Richard and the sword, however, not Domasca twenty yards away behind him with his bow raised, Jameson halfway between them and sprinting. The Alpha Wolf's arrow strikes the man in the upper shoulder, and as he stumbles under the pain, Jameson lands on him, her short muzzle of blood covered teeth digging deep into his shoulder and neck, tearing and reaping the flesh.

Richard uses his left arm to push himself to his knees awkwardly as Domasca reaches him, Jameson pouncing from body to body to ensure that the vohls are truly dead.

"Get her back to the battle," he says hoarsely, looking at where the three vohls who had summoned the snakes are still protected by wards, though their creatures are dead. "She needs to be on point when those wards are down, as do you. We have won, let's ensure we don't lose anyone else. And get me a full situation report."

"Yes, Khan," Domasca says, ignoring that Richard is bleeding freely from a hole in his arm and his leg is fractured, barking orders at Jameson and others.

Richard pulls the strings on his chest piece, exposing his wound and begins to dress it. He heals quickly, but his leg is broken badly, his collarbone is shattered, and he is bleeding profusely. He needs to staunch the bleeding so as to maintain consciousness and heal. He is fumbling with placing gauze in place, when the leader of the White Vohls, Mrs. Domasca's brother Stanaslov Milovsky, approaches.

"Let me take care of that," he says, pushing Richard's hand away, and placing his own hand over the wound. "You Rangers are always biting off more than you can chew," he mutters then chants softly, closing the wound with magic.

"You seem to have a thing against Rangers," Richard says, coughing blood.

"I was Search and Rescue for six years with the Navy before returning home when mother died, to lead the family," he says, gently pushing Richard on his back and looking at the leg. "The magic is still strong, so I can heal this. It will hurt."

"Pain is weakness leaving the body," Richard quips, then grits his teeth and fights back a groan as pain racks his leg while the Russian healer straightens the bones into alignment with his hands.

Richard breathes easier as the warm glow of healing magic knits his bones and flesh back into proper form on his leg. Less than a minute later he is on his feet and walking slowly with Stanaslov beside him to survey the results of the devastation.

"Two dead among the Vikings, one of them their shaman, and Jark Ragnarson badly wounded," Richard says to the gathered alphas on the roof of his barn, the Flare receded and tech gripping the world. "If the White Vohls hadn't been there, he would have lost the leg. Our Vohls and Witches lost three with two badly wounded, and we lost two."

"The losses would have been much worse had the White Vohls and White Witches not been there," Noel says in a near whisper, everyone straining to hear.

The old were-bear had taken enormous damage in the fight, having fought the giant ant to a standstill up until Richard had broken the ward around the ritual and breaking the rider's concentration. He had killed the leader, but had suffered tremendous damage, his voicebox nearly torn out and his right eye ripped horribly. He sits on a small stool, as do all the alphas, with ragged scar tissue on his throat and his eye socket empty, exposed with fresh red scar tissue around it.

"We will continue to treat with contemporary methods until magic returns in a couple months," Richard says, hoping that magic will allow Noel's eye to grow back.

"I wish to say something to the council," Mr. Domasca says, his back stiff and Richard senses his unease.

"Speak," Richard says with a nod.

"I have judged Richard Michaels poorly, since he joined the Pack," he says awkwardly, and Richard can sense that he has rehearsed this. "I have been a near enemy of his since his arrival, and I was wrong. I have witnessed firsthand what he is capable of, and more importantly, what he is willing to sacrifice for the Pack. He is a true Alpha, and it is my belief, having watched him break the ward at Hermann Park, that he is a First, here to lead us into the new era."

Mrs. Domasca places her hand on his after his words, which were obviously difficult for him, and he nods awkwardly as he finishes.

"Thank you, Wolf," Richard says with a small smile and nod of his own.

"Thomas," he says with a small twist of his head, then looking around at all the Alphas. "My given name is Thomas."

"Bridgette," his wife adds, touching her own chest and looking around. "No one in my family calls me Theresa."

"Thank you, Thomas," he says with a nod of understanding to him. "Bridgette," the same nod to her.

"We have a conclave meeting in two days," Tasha says after a moment, before the quiet gets awkward. "Envoys have been sent between the major factions in the city, and we will meet at Luchetti's, as usual, to discuss the ramifications of the Flare, as well as current issues and disputes. The Rangers and the Order will be sending representatives as well, this time."

"I do not know if that is wise," Mr. Jay says with a thoughtful frown. "Both the Rangers and Order have reason to hate us."

"They hate us more when we exclude them," Richard says with glance at him then looking around the circle. "I, and the Pack, own twenty-five percent of the Mercenary Guild, and have a seat on its management council, as does the Nation and now the Vikings, otherwise we'd include them as well. The Rangers and Order represent the other factions, those too small or too weak but numerous, to have a strong leader, but have champions. Including them will benefit us, in the long run."

"It will hurt us in the short run, though," Daniel Torres, the leader of Clan Rat says, a furtive glance at his wife, Amabilia. "I have some shady, illegal activities in the Clan, that we've been bodyguards at others for a long time. We'll have to either cut the ties, and lose the income, or hide it from the Law."

"For the time being, we hide it," Richard says with a nod, prepared for this. "I don't like dealing in illegal actions. It gives us a target for them. We need to either work them into the light, or break ties. I know it will take time, but that _is_ the direction we are moving towards."

He says the last with a flash of orange in his eyes, his alpha glare flashing across his features. Those assembled all duck their head and speak assent, understanding it is a topic that will have no negotiation.

"In times past, throughout history, true leaders established themselves legitimately, playing by the generally accepted rules or rules they implemented," Tasha says in a softer tone, everyone's attention on her now. "Whether the Mongols in China, the Romans in Europe, or anywhere else. If we are Al Copone, we will not be accepted. We must be Caesar, or Ghengis, if necessary."

"Speaking of Ghengis and Caesar," Thomas Domasca says with a smirk on his face, an expression Richard has never seen before. "I bring an item to the Council for a vote. We have called ourselves a Pack for too long, I think. Other groups such as ourselves adopt formal names, such as Icy Fury or Belle Ravani, instead of the stereotypical 'Pack' term. We are large enough, strong enough, we should do likewise, and set ourselves apart."

"You propose we re-name the Pack?" Torres asks, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"I propose we call ourselves The Horde," he says, looking around at the council.

"I'm almost offended," Richard says absently, his gaze in the distance as he thinks over the suggestion. "Almost, but I like both the obvious connotations and the hidden meaning, which is misleading to the uninformed."

"As one of the 'uninformed'," Jameson says with a rueful expression on her face. "What does that mean?"

"We are united, and it's the traditional term from the Mongol Dynasty in China," Richard says with a smile, looking around the council. "Ghengis was ruthless but was not afraid to compromise or adopt other methods to achieve his goal. To normal people, they think the term 'horde' is for undisciplined barbarians, though strong and to be respected."

"An insult if viewed by those who don't understand the underpinning meanings, a compliment if you are well educated in history," Mr. Jay says with a thoughtful frown, rubbing his chin. "I agree, a backhanded compliment. I vote 'aye'."

A chorus of "ayes" comes from the council, and Richard chuckles softly. He is now the Khan of the Houston Horde of Shapeshifters.

Richard dismounts from the Humvee in front of Luchetti's, the neutral territory on the southwest of town, and he can tell through the scents around him that numerous others have already arrived. He can parse out the scents of the Nation, and the People, as well as some other shapeshifters he doesn't recognize. He would guess they belong to the Nation, as he hasn't smelled them before. He pauses on the steps though, wearing a fine thin wool suit with a vest underneath, the suit a charcoal gray with threads of deep red in it. The shapeshifter scents are wrong, one is a were-jaguar, another a were-wolf, and the Nation has neither in their ranks.

He resumes his walk up the stairs, his gladius on his back, under his jacket and with a custom sheath and tailored hole in the jacket to allow it, his dirty blond hair now cut short into a high and tight. He pauses in the entryway, the Rat Alphas, Daniel and Amabilia Torres, behind him, along with the Domascas. His security arrived ahead of him and he nods internally as he recognizes the black suits surrounding the crowd, pistols in holsters as the tech will remain in charge for some time. He has a 1911 .45 pistol in the small of his own back, the jacket cut to hide it, though he is certain no one here is fooled.

A trio of strangers approaches him, and he pauses, as he recognizes the leader, a were-jaguar. The man is wide and solid, like a tank shoved into human form, his face chiseled from hard, dark marble, and his bald black head gleaming in the low light of the expensive establishment. He walks to the man, pausing a pair of steps away, as does the other man, two others behind him, one a young were-wolf, the other a were-rat from his smell.

"Richard Michaels?" the man asks, his voice hard and naturally dangerous.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Richard says evenly. "I was on a hunt you did in Louisiana. I was undercover from the Army, the Rangers. I'm glad to see my real identity was never discovered."

Richard watches as the man scowls, the words triggering the memory, "You called yourself Rickey, didn't you? You were filthy and stank."

"I knew I was working with shapeshifters, and needed to remain a low threat," Richard says. "It's nice to see you, Jim. I assume you have been sent on behalf of Curran, of Atlanta?"

"We have," Jim replies, gesturing to a side room. "May we speak in private?"

Richard leads the way, turning his back on the taller were-jaguar without hesitation, knowing his people are watching his back. He leads them and the other Alphas with him into a private first floor room, one of many which Luchetti's maintains on these evenings so that private conferences and discussions can take place around the Conclave.

Richard goes to the stocked sidebar and pours himself a mature whiskey, "Would you like anything, Shapshire?"

"No," Jim says with a scowl, his black slacks and shirt nearly bulging at the seams, and the black leather jacket he usually wears absent. "You were in a battle with a were-lion, some time ago," he states simply, ignoring the use of his real last name.

"I may have," Richard says carefully, turning back to Jim, his mind racing. He had worked hard to cover up the trail, and though he had brought the sisters in under his wing, he'd had new identities made for them, just in case.

"I know you did," Jim says in his firm voice, certain. "I know that Joshua Lennart came to Houston and acted as though he wished to petition to the Pack, that he attacked your mate, and that you accepted his challenge and killed him."

Richard glances at Daniel Torres, prompting him to speak.

"I was there when Lennart attacked Tasha, our Nimir-ra, our Alpha, and the Khan had returned," Daniel says, his voice firm as he recalls the events. "The Khan had just returned from weeks away, having been far away and having to fight his way back. He was still strong, and had a warrior form, which he did not have when he left. He accepted the challenge, and used a shorter knife, then they both shifted, and the Khan was victorious."

"Are you of his clan, rat?" Jim asks him, his glance shifting around at the group.

"I was then, and left to create Clan Rat," Daniel says.

"Richard has recently ascended to the Alpha of the entire Pack, and we consider him our Khan," Thomas Domasca says with a blue flash of light in his eyes, his tone hard and challenging.

"Easy, Thomas," Richard says with a small wave of his hand, drawing Jim's attention to him. "Yes, he came and assaulted my mate, threatened to rape and torture her. I killed him in, what I am told, was a spectacular fashion. He seemed like a sick fuck that gave shapeshifters a bad name. I do not mourn the loss."

Jim digests this for a moment before speaking low, "He was kin to Curran Lennart, the Beast Lord of Atlanta."

Richard takes a sip of his whiskey, thinking, his mind racing, buying himself a moment to think.

"Is he angry I killed him?" Richard asks directly.

"He is upset he was not given the opportunity to end his life, instead of you," Jim says. "They had bad blood between them, and it was his right to finish him."

"The opportunity was given to me, and I did not know his history," Richard says, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. "If you would remain in the city, I will provide shelter and protection, at any of the Pack residences, we have three strongholds as well as safe houses. We can discuss at length possible compensation and the future relationship between the Horde and the Free People of Atlanta."

"The Horde?" Jim asks, a single eyebrow twitching up.

"The council of Alphas decided we needed a better name than 'the Pack', so that we are not confused with other groups," Richard says, then downs the last of his whiskey. "I have a Conclave meeting to attend to, so I must go. If you decide to accept my offer, simply come to any house, business or property owned by a member of the Horde, and we will make arrangements. I will ensure they are notified."

"We will accept your generous offer," Jim says with a slight bow, though his eyes never leave Richard's, a sign of challenge.

"Excellent," Richard says with a grin, looking to Daniel. "Danny, send a runner to have a house at the Bastion prepared, with a summary. Tasha will no doubt have it ready by the end of the night, before we arrive."

"Yes, Khan," Daniel says, giving a short bow and averting his eyes.

Richard turns back to Jim, still smiling easily, "And Jim, I understand you are the Alpha of Clan Cat back in Atlanta, but here, you are a visitor. If you continue to try having a stare off, I may have to do something about it. I don't think either of us want the discussions between your people and mine to suffer, so let's not play games, okay?"

Jim shifts uncomfortably, anger radiating off of him as his eyes flash green, and he begins to speak, but Richard cuts him off.

"I have no desire to fight the Atlanta Pack, at all," Richard says firmly, still smiling. "I am Khan here, almost by accident. I want an alliance with your people, I think we can help each other, and I want to work towards that. I can't do it if we have pissing matches and petty power plays. I am going up to the conference room upstairs to the Conclave shortly. Discuss things with your associates, and come up when you are ready, if you would like to witness Houston's leaders manage affairs of the area."

Richard turns and leaves before Jim can reply, his people following him, and Jim simply glares at the man's back. When they are alone, the were-wolf speaks up.

"He has a scent marker similar to Curran's," he says, his voice firm and almost musical, matching his dangerously handsome face.

"He is a First," the were-rat says, nodding firmly. "And I sensed no deception or falsehoods in his words. He believes everything he said."

"I don't like this," Jim says to no one. "But the Beast Lord gave us a task, and we will do it, even if I don't like the smell of it."

Richard mingles on the first floor, making a single circuit around to shake hands with familiar faces and other power brokers in the city, even if they are not on the Conclave. The night is not just for the main players to talk together, but for other influential members of Houston to mingle and speak in a more informal setting. The entire evening had been the People's idea years ago, when a war had nearly broken out between them and the Nation, and it had evolved into a power players' evening. If you were a player, you were there, if you didn't get an invitation, you were not, simple.

As he moves around the room, he doesn't comment on the absence of Pelos, though many make inquiries, and he simply says that the Pack will make a statement at the Conclave meeting that will be distributed through the building afterwards. He has finished the single lap around the room and walks unhurriedly up the stairs to the meeting room on the second floor, his Alphas with him. He is the last of the major players to arrive, the Nation, the Neo-Vikings, the People and now the Order and Rangers, already seated at their tables. The tables are set up to form a hexagon, so that they are all facing inwards and can look at all the other representatives as necessary.

There is some murmuring as Richard walks easily across to the Pack's table, Jim and his two associates in chairs behind it against the wall. He pulls back and sits in the center chair that Pelos would normally occupy, the other Alphas sitting beside him, four of his own security behind them.

"I know that you all have questions," Richard says as he looks around at the assembled city leaders. "We will make a statement on the current status of the Shapeshifters within Houston, and I will take no questions. If you wish to discuss something in regards to it, perhaps we can talk after business of the city is complete."

A number of the leaders make frowns, but they all nod, understanding, and he continues.

"Pelos murdered his wife, he was judged by the council and put to death for his crimes," Richard says simply, looking around at the group. "As Pack Executioner, I carried out the sentence, against Pelos' objections. Pelos is dead, and I am now the leader of the Houston Shapeshifters."

"The Black Vohls stole Pelos' dead body, and attempted to resurrect their dark god, Chernobog, during the Flare," Mrs. Domasca says after Richard's statement. "With the help of the White Coven and White Vohls, the Khan and members of the Horde were able to stop them, though not without cost. We lost family and friends in the effort."

"I am Khan of the Shapeshifters," Richard says in a harder tone, looking around. "I look forward to working with all of you. So, shall we begin?"

Richard turns from his discussion with the leader of the Boatwright's Guild as a familiar scent reaches him, and he glances at the woman who has walked up to him. He finishes the discussion on the meetings to take place in regards to ship purchases and gives his full attention to the Knight-Protector of the Houston Chapter of the Knights of Merciful Aid.

"Khan of the Houston Horde?" the short black woman says with a tight smile and raised eyebrow. "You really don't do anything halfway, do you Michaels?"

"I have no issues with you calling me by my last name, but please do so only in private," Richard says with a tight smile in return. "It is impolite in this setting, Knight Protector."

"I'm trying to figure out how to call you 'Khan', is all," she says, her mouth working in thought. "You pretty much announced to the world that you performed vigilante justice on one of your own."

"We have our own laws, you know that," Richard says with a shake of his head. "If they are broken, we enforce them. I did nothing that the US or Texas considers illegal, Knight Protector."

"I have to know, though, khan," she says, finally using his title, curiosity in her eyes now. "What was he? We've been trying to find out for years, and never could figure it out."

"Keep trying, Knight Protector," Richard says with a real smile. "I cannot help you."

"Thank you for the invitation to the Conclave," she says, looking around at the assembled power brokers of the city. "Is it usually this busy?"

"Busier, actually," Richard says with a smirk. "Your presence has caused some of the more… unsavory characters to decide to pass up their invitations."

She smiles at that, "We had spies and undercover agents with many of them. We'll have to restructure our network now."

"Do you regret being invited?" Richard asks, his own tone curious now.

"No," she says with a firm shake of her head. "Thank you, khan, for the consideration."

"There are many unpowered, normal humans, that live here and needed a voice, Knight Protector," Richard says with a half shrug. "You and the Rangers are their voice. You need to be here."

"I do look forward to working with you, khan," she says with a nod of her ebony skinned head and short hair, then walks off to speak with others.

Richard turns to where the Chief Ranger for the area approaches, and grasps his hand firmly, planting two pats on his back as he brings him into an embrace, both men smiling. The seasoned old Ranger always reminded Richard of the old TV character, Walker Texas Ranger, from his red/brown beard to his attitude and accent, though he has more gray hairs in his beard and hair.

"Rick, I'm surprised you took charge," Roberts says with a rueful smile. "You never struck me as the commanding type. Solid, dependable, but not ambitious."

"I'm still not," Richard says as they break apart, less than arm's length away now. "But this is my family now, my responsibility. If I'm going to do it, there's only one way."

"The Right way," the Ranger agrees with a nod. "Well, stop by the station when you have time, I know you're busier now than before, I'd like to talk with you and possibly get you on the Mayor's schedule so we can talk more."

"I look forward to that," Richard says with a nod. "I'll send a couple of my people to schedule something."

"Good, good," he replies with a nod, then pats him on the back and walks off.

Richard catches a subtle wave from one of the side doors, a signal from Daniel, and he moves through the crowd to the door, and enters into the private room. Standing and sitting around leather sofas armchairs are the three senior leaders of the Nation, four of their young warriors with them in light tactical vests and weapons, the Domascas sitting at the sofa and Amabilia making small talk with the woman leader in the group.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Richard says.

"We were just talking about some recipes that we both enjoy, and were swapping ingredient lists," Amabilia says with a smile, rising with the other shapeshifters in respect to him.

"Richard Michaels," says the eldest of the Nation's leaders, a small, wiry and frail looking old shaman with black hair streaked with gray. "It pleases me to see you finally take your rightful place as the leader of your people."

"Thank you, Running Bear," Richard says as they shake hands comradely. "It is about that, in which I wish to speak with you."

The old man tilts his head back so that it seems he is looking down at the taller man, "You wish to re-open the discussion on our shapeshifter brothers to leave the Nation and join the Pack."

"My proposal is different than that of Pelos," Richard says, gesturing to the seats, and the whole group is now seated around the low coffee table with snacks on it. "He wanted to pull them from you, to make them choose. I do not."

"What difference does it make?" the other male elder says, looking very similar to Running Bear, but with solid black hair and a fuller frame, as well as fewer wrinkles on his face. "You wish to break apart our family, to take control of them."

"I do not," Richard says with a shake of his head, leaning forward in his seat and looking at the assembled leaders. "The shapeshifters would not have to leave the Reservation. By being dual members, of both the Nation and Horde, it will bring both our groups closer, and stronger. And should the Nation need assistance in dealing with a Loup, we will be able to help."

"We do not need help from outsiders," Running Bear says with a look of contempt.

"During the Flare, three of your shapeshifters went Loup, killing seven of your people," Daniel says with a frown from his seat, concern on his face. "Are they taken care of?"

Running Bear sits stiffer in his seat, "We will handle our own affairs."

"We did not bring this to the attention of the Conclave because we understand that matters within the family must be dealt within the family," Richard says as he looks around sympathetically. "But they are shapeshifters, infected with LycV, and if word were to get out about the attack, I would be held responsible by the Rangers, the Order and the general public."

"Not only that, but we are better suited to assist in containing and dealing with a rogue Loup," Mr. Domasca says, leaning back in his chair.

"Since the Khan took over as Executioner, accidental deaths within the Pack and the City due to rogue Loups has dropped to a fraction of what it was before," Amabilia adds, looking around at the Native Americans. "Our families are safer now, because we help each other. Let us help you as well."

"This is not a decision we can make at this time," Running Bear says, glancing at the other elders, who nod. "We will need to discuss the ramifications and consequences before we come to a decision."

"I understand, and we await your decision," Richard says, rising, and his people doing likewise, beginning to leave.

"Khan, a moment," Running Bear says at a nudge from the female elder.

Richard gestures for his alphas to leave and he remains behind, alone with the elders and their guards.

"One of the Loups was not caught in time," the old woman says. "He is still at large, we believe on the reservation, still. We have war parties hunting him."

"Shit," Richard says with feeling. "May I help?"

"We cannot be made to be to look weak to our people," Running Bear says, his back straight and stiff.

"Asking for help is not weakness, when it is a challenge too great to attack alone, it is wisdom," Richard corrects the old man. "I did not attack the Black Vohls alone, I would have failed. I had allies from the Witches, White Vohls and Vikings. That is why we succeeded. This is the same."

Running Bear frowns, and the old woman glares at him for a long moment, and he eventually nods agreement.

"Very well, but not many," he says with a shake of his head.

"I will send six of my most trusted immediately," Richard says with a nod. "The sooner they go, the less loss of life."

"Thank you, khan," Running Bear says, bowing stiffly, then leaving the room.

As the door opens, Richard murmurs under his breath and Adam enters the room at the summons, closing the door behind him.

"I need our six best and closed mouthed to go to the Nation's village, they have a Loup on the loose and they're hunting it now," he say quickly. "Be discreet, but have them load for bear, they're likely going to break into two man groups, and with the tech staying up, machine guns loaded with silver are the order."

"Got it, boss," he says, then speaks into his radio and earpiece, Richard walking past him and back out into the main room, continuing to manage affairs of the Horde and City.

Richard walks up the stairs to his house, mentally exhausted from the night at the Conclave, dawn touching the sky to the east. He pauses in the house, taking in the scent of his home, and his mate, as well as cooking beef. He goes to his bedroom and peels off his suit, vest and tie, setting his weapons aside, then pulling on sweatpants to walk around the house. He enters the kitchen to find Tasha cooking on the stove, wearing baggy sweatpants and an old t-shirt of his.

"Hello, good looking," he says as he encircles his arms around her from behind, burying his nose in her neck.

"I'll have steaks ready in a few minutes," she says, stirring the green beans and potatoes in the pan in front of her, the smell of roasting meat coming from the oven. "Mischa and Will are handling the envoys from the Atlanta Pack. What else happened?"

"What we expected, no real surprises except one," he says, nuzzling her neck and enjoying her scent. "The Nation had one of the Loups get away. I convinced them to let us help, and six of Adam's guys are there now helping hunt it down. I think they may go for letting us have authority over their shapeshifters after this, but we may have to eat some crow or sweeten the deal with them."

"Running Bear is big on his trade and income, because of their immunity to taxes, like us, and he looks long term, at the security of his people," she says. "I think we should help them build a Casino on Indian ground, and become minor partners with them."

Richard pauses, resting his chin on her shoulder from behind and staring at the vegetables she is stirring as he thinks over that.

"That's a really good idea," he says slowly. "I don't have enough money to fully fund that, but I can broker the loans and deals, we'll end up with a couple other partners, maybe."

"I figured you could, but I don't know the details," she says leaning back and turning her head to kiss his head.

He turns his head and they kiss tenderly for a long moment, then she returns her attention to the food again, and he goes to the fridge to pull a beer out. He opens it and walks out onto the back patio, to where Mischa and Will are with Jim and their visitors. He takes a pull as he reaches the table, his people standing in respect, the others doing the same as guests.

"I would guess you want to see my warrior form, so you can report it to Curran?" Richard asks, then taking another long pull from his beer.

"It would satisfy my curiosity," Jim says simply, his expression fixed in badass mode.

Richard sheds his human form, growing into a seven foot tall meld of tiger and man, his sweats tearing off of him, and he maintains his hold on the bottle of beer as he does. The bottle does not shatter in his grip, a great display of control that Jim and the guests do not miss. Richard raises the bottle to his toothy maw, pouring it onto his tongue with his head tilted back, his lips and jaw not built in such a way to make drinking from the small bottle easy.

"Satisfied?" Richard asks, taking another drink.

"It's odd for an infected human to have so much control so early," Jim says with a frown.

"I'm pretty sure I'm a First, as well," Richard says, finishing the beer. "I've never met one, that I know of, and neither has any of my people, so I'm only guessing."

The were-rat with them clears his throat slightly, and Jim nods after a moment, granting permission.

"I am an expert within our Pack on scents and the smell of different types and strengths of magic," he says with a nod. "You share a scent marker with Curran, the Beast Lord, who is a First. You are as well."

"Why are you telling me this?" Richard says with his large cat eyes narrowed, his voice a rumble from his tiger like throat.

"The Beast Lord also wishes peace and an alliance," Jim says simply. "I have spoken to him over the phone since meeting you, and he has given me instructions to continue our talks to keep the peace."

"Good," Richard says, turning from them as he tosses the bottle into a nearby can, his warrior form melting to his human form over three steps as he walks to the house, naked. "We'll talk again in the morning."

Richard stands nervously in the large open area behind the Mansion, where the youth have their monthly party. They could have done the ceremony at the Bastion, but with the number of non-Pack members attending, Richard was uncomfortable showing so many strangers his stronghold. But the Mansion is already well known and has hosted many visitors from the area in the past. So the wedding between himself and Tasha is taking place in the backyard of the Mansion.

The large willow tree is draped in decorations in the early afternoon light, rows of wooden folding chairs in lines and rows, an aisle forming down the middle. He stands at the head of the aisle on a small platform over the grass, a catholic priest in the center, he to his right, Alex, Adam and Atticus arrayed beside him, all in tuxedoes. Richard's jacket and pants are black, his vest and tie both silk for the occasion, and despite the priest's objection, his gladius hanging low on his left hip. The groomsmen all stand with a weapon as well, and they had escorted the three Lioness bridesmaids on the opposite side of the aisle. The bridesmaids wear cream colored, single strapped, loose and toga looking dresses.

Now Richard is transfixed at the sight of Noel in a black suit, white shirt and black vest with red tie holding Tasha's hand. Tasha is wearing folds of white silk, artfully arrayed around her, but cinching slightly across her chest and abdomen, her legs free from tangling. She, like all the others in the bridal party is armed, her sabre hanging on her left hip, her arm through Noel's and bouquet in hand. Her hair is coiffed beautifully, a small veil over her face, covering her face to just under her nose, but leaving her mouth exposed and full.

All the details are gone from his view, however, as Richard is captivated at the view of his bride, soon to be his wife, walking down the aisle. The small procession of people, including the flowergirl, accompanied by music is lost on him as he just focuses on enjoying the moment, and the woman he loves. She stops across from him, her smile beaming at him, and he reaches across and lifts her veil. Her eyes are exposed, which have always pierced his very being, and on occasion, even saved his life. Unable to resist, he leans forward and kisses her gently on the lips, savoring her taste and scent.

He can hear someone chuckling and people clapping, and he pulls back, looking up at the priest.

"That comes later, son," he says with a laugh, a former chaplain from the Army Rangers that Richard had asked to come and preside over the wedding. "Let us begin."

Richard is standing at the head table, watching Tasha on the dance floor in front of him, holding up her dress and kicking to the music from the live band at the end of the Mansion Ballroom. They had pulled out the chairs they used in the Councils before, and are used at the head table. Lively music fills the huge hall, filled with shapeshifters and a few human and special guests. The gathering spills into the backyard, a thousand guests in attendance, impossible for Richard and Tasha to mingle with individually, but still he had spent two hours with Tasha walking the crowd and circulating.

Dinner had been served through three different caterers, Kate, one of Richard's former Clan members and a business he helps manage, leading them. Buffets are spread around, and individual plates for the bridal party and the twelve VIP tables closest. Richard is grinning ear to ear, his gladius on his hip and a glass of twenty five year scotch in his hand. She jogs over to him, grinning as well, drags him onto the dance floor, and they sway energetically to the music, his drink forgotten on the table. It shifts to a rhumba, and Tasha smiles up at him, having made him take dancing lessons so they could dance to this.

They are halfway through the dance, the floor cleared as they spin and dance together, everyone's eyes on them, when a boom reverberates outside the building. Richard turns his head to the sound, his pace drifting to nothing, his mind shifting automatically to his battle mind as he recognizes the sound.

"What was that?" Tasha asks, also turned and looking that way, still close to Richard and holding each other.

"A cannon, a big gun, followed by an explosion, over one hundred millimeters, I think," he says absently, leading her through the parting crowd to the hall. "Please go to the bunker, I'll look into it."

"But—," she begins to say, but he cuts her off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Think of our child, I'll handle this," he says, squeezing her hand then turning to the front door, her towards the back and the stairs leading down.

A few moments later he is in the foyer, Adam beside him, a dozen steps from the front door when it explodes. The door explodes inwards, then the staircase beyond erupts violently in a shower of splinters and shattered wood. Richard is thrown from his feet, into the wall as he is pelted by shrapnel from the blast and knocked momentarily unconscious. His senses groggily return to him as he lies on the floor, his ears ringing and blood dripping from multiple gashes and lacerations. He blinks against the blurry light, his vision returning and he tries to look around.

He is lying on his stomach, under a piece of the ceiling from his lower back down, though nothing feels like a deep cut or severe wound. He looks over at where Adam is pinned to the ground and immobile, one of the support beams piercing him through the chest, the former head of security dead. Richard grits his teeth and pushes himself up through the rubble, rising to his feet, the dizziness passing quickly, and pulls the enchanted ice axe from Adam's belt. He walks to where the front door had been, and now is just a hole and shattered wooden deck.

He peers from the edge, surveying the field, noting his people fighting from the vehicles in the drive, and the armored behemoth approaching up the road. He is stunned for a moment at the sight, a tank, Russian from the looks of it, probably rebuilt or a copy, but effective for all that with two machine guns on it and the 125mm smooth bore cannon. He knows it's capable of killing other tanks, much less people or lesser vehicles, at hundreds of yards. It had fired an anti-tank round through the front door and is now picking apart the guests with it and the machine guns.

His hearing catches the sound of a crash and a scream, a woman's, Tasha's, and he sprints to the back of the house through the rubble. He nearly falls down a slide of rubble to next to where Tasha lies on a broken pile of wood, lit dimly by the burning house, her lower legs under debris.

"I'm here, I'm here," he says, his eyes searching over her and stopping at her left hip, which is shattered and pinned to the ground by a piece of wood as big around as his arm. "I've got to pull it out."

He gestures to Mischa, who is crawling out of the rubble nearby and comes to him, "Hold her and put pressure on it when I leave. I have to stop the attack."

Mischa pins Tasha's shoulders, then Richard yanks out the giant wood splinter, two feet long, from his new bride, then shoves his jacket into the bleeding hole. He leans down as her scream ends, having been unable to hold it in from the pain, and kisses her on the forehead.

"I love you, hold on, I'll be back," he says with force, his eyes flashing.

"Kill those fuckers," she says, a sob escaping her dirty face and holding back emotions. "Our child is dead because of them."

Richard's eyes flash orange again and he turns from her, his anger rising. He shoves the anger into a compartment, a promise to himself that soon, very soon, he will let it out and destroy those in the tank. He sprints through the house and out the front, landing in a crouch in front of the shattered porch and two burning vehicles, a line of tracers from the machine gun on the tank lancing to his right. The tank is just over two hundred yards away, parked, shifting its guns from one fighting position to another, his people having taken up guns and trying to fight it.

"SMOKE!" he roars over the din of battle, and begins to sprint towards the tank, but aiming further to the left, to give him more time until it can engage him well, and presenting a harder target.

It takes a few moments, but a smoke grenade is thrown by inhumanly strong shapeshifter arms, and land along his path to the tank. The smoke rises as the machine gun has swiveled towards him, starting to kick up plumes of dirt he fights to avoid, more grenades landing. Tracers zip past him, and he feels one burn across his left ribs, not silver, but still painful. He turns to the tank, emerging from the smoke forty yards away, and off the tank's target line. He leaps into the air and lands on the rotating turret, the gunner and vehicle commander dropping under armored hatches.

They would be safe until he could get a high powered blow torch her to cut the hatch, and they can still drive and shoot from within. He has no patience, and his anger is high, so he pulls his gladius out and shoves his magic into the blade. Despite the tech being up, ruling the world, the blade flashes with fire, and he pushes more magic into it from his being as he presses it on the hatch, melting the joint. He can hear panicked screaming from within as the metal quickly reaches a cherry red hot, transferring the heat to the interior. The front hatch pops open, the assistant driver jumping out with a stubby machine gun and firing at Richard.

Richard throws the ice axe offhanded, and it lands in the man's collarbone with a flash of ice and a stifled scream of pain. The hatch falls closed after the body falling into the tank with the hatch falling closed, and Richard resumes cutting. A moment later, just before he is through the joint, the main gun fires, and he is dazed for a moment as the driver's hatch opens and another crewman reaches out and fires blindly at him with an automatic pistol. Two hit this time, and are silver, but he leaps towards the hand, landing and closing the armored hatch hard, breaking the man's arm. He shifts from lying on his side to his feet, and rips the man out of the hatch, grabbing him by the front of his jacket.

He shoves the man hard into the barrel, feeling bones crunch beneath his hands, then he flings him into the distance, trusting someone else to finish him. The hatch clangs shut before he can grab it while open, and he roars in frustration. He can hear panicked screaming from within, fear filling their voices, and he grabs the hatch he had been burning by the handle and pulls with all his strength. The bullet wound in his left shoulder, right thigh and ribs scream protest, but he ignores it, roaring as he rips the hatch off and into the night.

The bark of a large handgun flashes from inside, catching him in the left shoulder again, but he is on the man in a flash, impaling him with the flaming gladius in his right hand. The man screams, his middle aged face and features unknown to him, Caucasian with a thin beard and sharp features. Richard yanks the man out and pauses as he holds him off the side of the tank, bleeding from his opened intestines, his struggles weakening.

"Who sent you!?" Richard demands, holding him aloft with his injured hand with ease.

"Your… kind… abomination…" the man says weakly, blood leaking down his lips, his head rolling to the side as he dies.

Richard drops the body unceremoniously to the side, four of his people from Clan Cat and two from Wolf approaching the quiet tank in warrior form.

"I want serial numbers, blood, M-scans, prints, teeth, everything," he snarls, his anger getting the better of him. "I will destroy whoever decided to ruin my wedding day, and kill my unborn child."

The shapeshifters all growl menacingly in agreement as Richard hops easily off the tank and starts running back to the Mansion, and his wounded bride.

Richard paces back and forth in the waiting area outside the operating room, still in his bloody tuxedo, sword and axe on his hips. He'd carried his nearly unconscious bride down into the med ward and demanded the doctor do something. Magic is down, and tech is all that's available, so his hopes are low, but she had been breathing and mumbling when he handed her over. He hears a gasp calling his name within the room, and he is through the doors at her side in only a moment, his hand holding hers.

"I'm here, love, I'm here," he says softly, leaning next to the bed to look into her eyes.

"Did you get them?" she asks, her voice weak, and he glances at her lower body when she blinks hard and long.

"The men that did this are dead," he says with a firm nod, his jaw clenching as he says it. "I will find who is responsible, and repay them in kind."

"The baby?" she asks, her voice tight as she opens her eyes at him, tears leaking out and only a trace of hope remaining.

He glances at the doctor to the side, who shakes his head slightly, and he looks back at Tasha, shaking his own head, unable to speak. She closes her eyes and more tears leak out as she sobs softly, and he leans down to her, holding her gently, despite the partially open wound on her hip. He glances down at the right leg, seeing now what he had not in his hasty battlefield treatment.

Her leg had been clamped between the marble bathtub from upstairs and the foundation, and sheared her leg clean off mid-shin. She could probably get a prosthesis, and perhaps regenerate it in a few years, but for now she is a cripple with no right foot. He holds her tight, his own scrapes and cuts from the fight gone, his healing faster than hers and having had both less injuries as well as more time. The doctor quietly leaves the two mourning Alphas, and they clutch each other tight, Richard's tears now joining those of his wife.

"You have our condolences," Jim says, standing in the front yard of Richard's house at the Bastion.

He and the others that came with him wear dark clothing and had been waiting for him to emerge, knowing it may be a while. They were surprised when he emerged immediately, his wife just coming to the house today. He looks haggard, compared to before, though he still radiates authority.

"I have no taste for games, Jim," he says flatly, his face firmly in a grim mask. "Lennart's cousins are staying, they were presented the option, and have chosen to stay. Go back to Curran and tell him I am not his enemy, and I will be his ally. If a threat comes and he needs the aid of the Horde to confront it, we will be here. When the war comes, send word, and I will do what I can."

"I understand," Jim says with his own perpetual frown of badass on his face. "I will have our businesses contact you in regards to trade and partnerships."

"Thank you," Richard says, waving at the gates then re-entering the house.

He enters the living room and pauses, looking at where Tasha is sitting on a recliner, the back up, as the Horde's best doctor shows her how to fit the prosthetic foot to the stump of her leg. He hears him speak, and watches as Tasha nods her head intently, memorizing the process and the capabilities of the replacement limbs. He turns without a word and leaves back out of the front door, walking around the house to where the hulk of the captured T-72 enemy Russian tank is sitting by the barn.

"Report," he says, fighting to control his anger and inner beast.

"Khan," Will says, ducking his head uncomfortably and glancing at Hermano, Alex and Atticus with him, as well as a few others from the Cat Clan. "We've pulled all the numbers we can, but most were filed off, only a few on the engine were readable."

"This is a replica, fully functional," Atticus says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. "American diesel engine instead of the shitty Russian one, better guns with German manufacture, mostly before the Shift, but some done afterwards. Records are going to be spotty."

"Why?" Richard asks, forcing his voice to calm, but instead achieving only blank and emotionless.

"It was made in Germany," Atticus says with a sigh. "Shipped here to the US, probably in the last five years, if what I can understand of the engine is right."

Richard takes another deep breath, focusing himself and fighting for calm and cool thinking. The tank either had been dedicated to this for a long time, before he came, or re-purposed for the attack from something else. Regardless, it was not cheap, and those manning it were well trained and fanatics to the cause. He can only think of two or three organizations that would have the resources to pull this off.

"Will, Hermano," he says after a moment's thought, attacking the issues at hand. "Adam is dead, I need you two to step up and ensure we don't lose a step on security. Get Mitchell, pull him in, he's the next best fighter, and he has the background to help."

"Yes, khan," the two young men say, and he can hear their trepidation, and he knows he should speak reassuringly to them, but he just doesn't have it in him to give them a pep talk.

He glances at Atticus, who nods, turning to the young men to do the talking as Richard walks away, his mind elsewhere. He absently ascends the boards to the top of the barn and looks out at the Bastion, his mind trying to wrap his head around the traumatic events of the last few days.

"My Khan," an old voice says in Cantonese, and Richard turns to where the elder Xiang is standing behind him on the barn. Richard had been so lost in thought, he had not heard him approach, and he mentally berates himself.

"Come, sit," Richard says to the old man, having only glanced over his shoulder, and gesturing to the open platform beside him.

The old man sits crosslegged beside him, and they both study the sunset that way, the quiet peaceful rather than awkward. After ten minutes of quiet the old man speaks softly, so only Richard can hear him.

"We mourn for you," he says, his eyes still on the glowing horizon. "I had sacrifices and prayers made to honor your unborn child."

"Children," Richard corrects with a tight throat. "It was twins, a boy and a girl. The doctor was able to extract the remains and do an autopsy, though it was mostly chemical, rather than physical."

"The Horde weeps, my khan," he says, bowing his head. "You do not mourn alone."

"We lost nearly a hundred people," Richard says with a growl. "They fired a canister round into the massed crowd after destroying the Mansion. We all mourn for our collective losses."

"Who did this to us?" the old man asks, turning his head slightly towards Richard, his inclusion noted.

"I don't know yet," Richard replies calmly, his anger fighting to surface. "I want to rend and tear, but I know that it will take time, and I fear I will never know for sure."

"My people have methods of tracking and finding, through magic," Xiang says after a moment. "But it was forbidden, even in the worst of times. It is a dark magic, but possible."

Richard grits his jaw hard, fighting his anger and inner beast. After a few long moments of internal struggle, he is able to speak again.

"No," he says with a firm shake of his head. "I will not become that which I hate and have sworn to end. I am _not_ those men."

"No, my khan, you are not," the old man replies with a deep, seated, bow. "I assume you will wish time to mourn, before beginning training with my son in the arts of Kung Fu."

"No," Richard says with a shake of his head. "We will start immediately. Our enemies will not rest, so neither shall we."

"Yes, my khan," Xiang says with a slow nod of agreement, his own respect rising at the answer. "I will have him prepare to give lessons in the morning."

"He is not to hold back," Richard says, turning his head to look at the elder. "I am Alpha, and Khan, but for those sessions, I am a student, learning my form and still a novice. I am to be treated like others, and I will allow him, during the training times. Understood?"

"Completely, Khan," he says with another deep bow. "I will be present at all training, and my son will only be my physical stand in, as I am not young enough to hold the forms properly anymore."

"Good," Richard says with a firm nod, a small gesture of his hand with it, and the elderly Xiang rises and leaves him alone.

He sits alone for a few minutes before being interrupted again, this time by Mischa, who has ascended the beams. He continues to stare at the fading light of the sunset as she stands on the edge of the platform, waiting. After another minute, he sighs.

"What is it?" he asks, his mind everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Tasha asked when you would be down again," she says softly.

Richard takes a deep breath, trying to find calm, but the beast inside him that has been his alter ego since becoming a shapeshifter is raging within him. He can't let it go, he can't focus like he normally does, his anger and grief too big, all consuming. He pushes out a breath, hoping for calm, but the angry storm inside him is too much, and he can't shake it.

"I am not good company right now," he says in a slightly strained voice, standing upright. "I'm going to the Way. I'll probably crash at Hoffman's when I'm done. Don't wait up."

He walks past her as he speaks, down the steps to the front gate, stopping only to grab a bow, quiver of arrows and shield, his axe and sword already on his belt. He ascends the steps and leaps off the wall, rolling with the impact and jogging, then running through the trees towards the magic choked district in the city. Mischa watches him trot off with a pensive expression, knowing her friend will not be happy at this event, and having no good answer for her.

Epilogue…

"What did you leave out?" Curran says as he tosses the folder with the reports of Jim's mission to visit the Houston Pack.

The folder slides across the table to Jim, who puts his hand on it, as he keeps his eyes on the tabletop just in front of the Beast Lord. He glances around at the nearly empty room, them the only two occupying it, internally pensive, though his exterior remains stoic and hard.

"When the tank attacked, and he took it out," Jim says, speaking slowly. "He used magic, his sword was flaming and melted the steel of the hatch."

"He used magic in a tech wave," Curran says, his brows furrowed and a deep frown on his face. "Impossible."

"I saw it," Jim says firmly. "He also used the frost axe, freezing one of the crewmen with it. He used magic during a tech wave, he killed Pelos, and can use magic. He's a huge threat to us."

"I'm not worried about him," Curran says with a frown and shaking his head. "If he can do it, so can other powerful magic users, if they have enough power."

Jim pauses in thought for a moment before speaking, "Roland and the others."

"Precisely," Curran says. "We need Michaels as an ally. Tell Medrano to reach out, we need to keep him on our side, so that we're not at a disadvantage later. See if we can set up a meet between him and me."

"Yes, sir," Jim says, now understanding the were-lion's meaning and agenda. "Are you sure, though? You may clash."

"I have no doubt," Curran says with a savage grin. "I'm looking forward to it."

End…..


End file.
